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Chapter Text

The Legend of Larra Stark: Barrow Raider

Prologue

Casterly Rock, Seat of House Lannister

The great doors of Tywin's solar swung open to allow Rickard Stark, Lord of Winterfell admittance. The man was smaller than Tywin expected, though that may have been due to the lack of a cloak - unnecessary in the heat of the south. He didn't know why the man had ridden south to talk to him, especially since any discussion could have been done over raven. But still, refusing the meeting would have been considered an insult and Tywin could not imagine that the northerner, from a culture famed for solemnness would have come for anything less than crucial in his mind.

"Many thanks for seeing me at such short notice, my lord" said Rickard, striding down the hall and leaving his squire - bearing a leather wrapped parcel - in his wake. Tywin couldn't make out what the item enclosed within was, as the covering was clearly meant for something else entirely. Still he rose to his feet, presenting a bowl of salt and a loaf of fresh bread - as Guest Right demanded.

"It was my pleasure Lord Stark" said Tywin, "though I confess I was confused by your request for a private meeting." The last word held an obvious question, which Rickard recognised.

"I will not dither and waste time" the man said, after consuming the bread. He took the covered object from his squires hands. "I came to return this." And placing the artefact on the desk, he drew back the leather wrappings.

Tywin recognised it instantly.

Brightroar. The ancestral sword of House Lannister, lost on an ill-fated quest to Valyria.

But..."How?" Tywin whispered. He gingerly reached out for the blade. Valyrian Steel. It was unmistakable. His family's shame, returned...

But Rickard Stark looked embarrassed. "My daughter" he sighed, as if that explained everything. Tywin was not satisfied.

"Your...daughter?" he asked. Was the girl some sort of explorer, a reborn Lomas Longstrider?

"Larra" Rickard confirmed, "named for a cousin of my wife's. Since she was two and ten the girl has kept vanishing, disappearing for hours or days or weeks - only to turn up later lugging some ancient artifact behind her." He chuckled, exasperatedly shaking his head. "Believe me when I say that this" he said, pointing to Brightroar, "is one of the least strange things she's brought back."

"What could possibly make a Valyrian Steel sword look normal?" Tywin asked, suddenly wondering whether he should fetch ink and paper.

"The Ice Dragon for starters" Rickard muttered, sinking into a chair. "The strange gears from Tyrosh, the glowing dagger from Ib, the flaming greatsword from Volantis, the golem - as she calls it - from Braavos." He shook his head again. "My daughter is odd to say the least. Any ruin or cave or tomb - she'll be down there, armed with nothing but her bow and her wits. And by this point we're running out of space for all the artefacts."

--------------------

Meanwhile in Winterfell...

"Ah, Larra. You're back again" said Brandon, already waist deep in his wine. "What have you found now?"

"Well brother" said Larra, that strange accent of hers shining through, "On my quest beyond the Wall I came across this fascinating giant graveyard..."

Chapter Text

Arc 1: The Scion of Yeen 

Part 1: Rise

- The Free City of Lys -

The market bustled with life, the crowd moving frantically to buy and sell their wares before the hottest part of the day started. So it always was in the city of Lys, famous among men for both its beauty and the pleasures that could be found here. As I passed between two stalls - selling fruit and amulets respectively - my eyes finally located my target, leaning heavily against a wall and eyeing up a courtesan.

Robert.

"You could try to be less obvious about your lusts" I muttered, sidling up to him while scanning the crowd to check if I had been followed.

"It's not as though she minds" he replied back, nudging me gently in welcome. "Did you find what you were looking for Larra?"

"Not quite" I answered, "But I definitely know it's location. According to Saladoor's 'friend', the Scion is interred in a tomb outside the city, belonging to a man named Borroro Daegrys."

"Daegrys" Robert mused, as he turned to face me after a last look at the courtesan - Baratheon eyes a stormy blue as always; "That was one of the aliases of the 'Sea Snake' wasn't it?" I nodded and smiled.

"Corys Velayron" I confirmed, "and our next target. Apparently Lady Natla really did know something. That is, if you're game?" Robert chuckled.

"I wouldn't miss if for the world Larra" he said, "Stops me getting fat at least and it's better than being cooped up in Storm's End." So we headed onwards, Robert with his warhammer and I with my bow, axes and daggers.

"I just hope there won't be any White Walkers this time" he muttered.

- Outside the City -

The entrance to the Sea Snake's presumably fake tomb was clearly designed to blend in with its counterparts, the facade being plain stone with little ornamentation or embellishment. In a way, it reminded me of my first true adventure; a quest into the bowels of the Winterfell Crypts. My father had been livid when I returned, even when presented with the massive mace I had dragged out behind me.

But this was undoubtedly the place. Not only was the blending in far too perfect, the shading too unobtrusive, the iron door too well secured; but Corys had been unable to resist leaving his own personal calling card. And a snake curled around a ship was not easily mistaken, even when faded by rain and wind.

"Now how do we get you open" I muttered, striding up to the door. To my annoyance, it had rusted in the century since Corys passing; which combined with its already heavy lock would make opening it quite difficult. But not impossible. Not for me.

"Robert, can you keep lookout for a few minutes?" I asked. It would hardly do for a Lyseni guard to come across us tomb robbing after all, even if I preferred to think of it as liberating an artifact. While I fiddled with the collection of tools kept in my knapsack, Robert peered up and down the path - hands braced on his warhammer. I had only really advanced in lock-picking skills in the last year of my life, as I had rarely had to use it early on my adventures. Any doors I had encountered were well past rotten and any chests could be smashed into with my axe. Many a time an architect had tried to be clever, only for that to fall flat thanks to their own pride requiring them to leave clues.

Two broken lockpicks later, the door was open - revealing a long flight of stairs heading down into darkness. I inhaled the smell from the depths, that scent of stone and damp that I loved so much. Truly, there was nothing in the world quite as intoxicating. And as I whistled for Robert and lit my torch from a pack of matches attached to my belt; I smiled for the adventure to come.

"And here we go."

- The Tomb of the Sea Snake -

The room at the base of the stairs was small and faintly rectangular, lined with stone shelves - most of which bore a large coffin. The exception was the wall opposite Robert and I which was occupied instead by a massive stone sarcophagus; presumably belonging to 'Borroro Daegrys' himself.

"Obviously the tomb's fake" I muttered as we marched towards it, "Probably the coffins as well."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that" replied Robert, pointing out a small bony hand poking out of the side of one of the coffins, where part of the wood had rotted away. "What do you want to bet it comes alive and tries to kill us?" I laughed.

"Honestly Robert" I muttered, as I kneeled down to examine the sarcophagus; "We're nowhere near the Wall. And I still doubt it's real, where would he have got the skeletons from?"

"You said that in Lorath as well" he pointed out, "And you don't know the Valyrians as well as I do. If anyone has skeletons in their cupboards, it's them." He squinted at the tomb himself. "I would try levering it." I looked up at him.

"Lever what?"

"The tomb" he said, squatting down beside me; "We've got similar things in the basement of Storm's End, tombs for all the old Storm Kings and many Lord Paramounts. There's the occasional exception nowadays like Orys Baratheon who was burnt and my parents who had to have a plaque made." He grimaced, but quickly switched to a weak smile. "I could show you one day, Larra?"

I patted his shoulder. "Maybe. Help me with this." I thrust my axe into a gap in the stonework, while on the other side Robert did the same his hammer. I had two axes I carried around for my journeys, a climbing axe based on a design from the Vale and a Valyrian Steel axe scavenged from a ruin in Norvos that I'd taken a liking to. The latter was what I was using now, the magic cast into the metal allowing it to bear greater weights than a common weapon.

With a satisfying groan, the stone lid started to move - ages of dust and rock shifting under our combined efforts. I could feel my shoulders aching under the weight and my nails digging into my palms...but with a crash the lid fell backwards, revealing the innards of the fake sarcophagus. I laughed in delight, Robert falling backwards to rub his arms.

Inside the coffin was a lever of metal, its handle wrapped in half-rotted leather. I instinctively reached for it, ignoring any senses that would have said otherwise. But maybe I should have done, because I almost wrenched my arm out of its socket trying to shift it. With a loud clunk and a clatter of what sounded like bones it finally shifted and in its wake opened up a section of wall behind the tomb.

Nestled inside the wall cavity was a golden...thing, or at least part of one. It looked like a third of a circle, though built out of a multitude of gears and other strange mechanical shapes. Runes were carved into every available surface, along with strange lines and pictures. It almost reminded me of a similar artefact I had dredged up from Tyrosh, though that one had been far more rusted and bent out of shape. This one was perfectly preserved, glittering with the same strange beauty as when it was first put in here.

"Is that it?" Robert asked, coming to rest on his knees beside me as we peered into the hole. But I didn't reply, as I reached out a trembling hand to pull out this artefact; slightly larger than my hand but far lighter than anything I had ever held before.

"The Scion of Yeen" I breathed, "Oh Robert, its beautiful!" And it was, the mystery of it captivating me. What was its purpose? How was it built? And why had Corys Velayron buried it here, deep in the bowels of the earth?

"It is" Robert replied, looking at me...before a shadow fell across his face. A shadow that nothing in this room could have been casting -

"Move!" I yelled, throwing myself to the side as Robert did the same - as a rusted axe slammed down in the space where two seconds ago we had been. Wielding the axe was one of the same skeletons that I had passed over when we first entered. But the reason behind it's existence didn't matter, only that it ceased to exist. I grasped my axes. The skeleton - apparently selecting the biggest target - swung for Robert who instantly partied the blow with his warhammer.

It didn't get a second chance for a swing. In one fluid movement, I ducked and sliced it's legs out from under it with my Valyrian axe; the old bone giving way under the force. As it fell to the ground, the skeleton made a swipe for my head - which I dodged before caving its skull in with my other axe, ending its undeath. Panting, Robert and I crouched over the fallen entity.

"I...told...you" Robert said between chuckles, "I told you this was going to be another Lorath! This happens everywhere you go doesn't it?" I rolled my eyes.

"Not everywhere!" I muttered. Robert didn't look convinced. However, banging from the other coffins quickly alerted us to the fact that more skeletons were on the way. "I vote we don't bother with them" I said.

"They're not much of a challenge" he agreed. Taking the scion from the floor and sliding it into my bag - along with a folded note I had previously failed to notice - I led the way out of the crypt; Robert pausing to grab the skeleton's axe for his own collection. He thought I wasn't aware of his collection of weapons in Storm's End, ranging from axes to swords to spears. Though I couldn't talk, considering my bedroom back in Winterfell was stuffed with artifacts I had brought back from various expeditions. As were the vaults beneath Winterfell, to my father's continued exasperation.

I wasn't sure what he complaining about, considering the family now had twenty Valyrian swords to throw at any problems. The Lord of the Dreadfort had apparently suffered a heart attack when he discovered that news, along with the Targaryens probably.

At the top of the stairs Robert and I worked together to slam the door shut, wedging it into the stone work so that hopefully the skeletons would stay trapped. Saladoor tended to get annoyed when the undead invaded his ship, especially as ghost pirates were difficult to kill with bows or crossbows.

"So what does the note say?" asked Robert, grinning down at me. I unfolded it...and slowly smirked.

"A warning and... a clue for the next part" I replied, "Now we just need to figure out how Saladoor can be convinced to visit Valyria..."

Chapter Text

Part 2: Chronicle

- Aboard the Valyrian -

"What do you mean 'can you sail for Valyria'?!"

I sighed. "You won't need to travel into the Smouldering Sea, Salladhor. All I'm asking is for you to take me and Robert around to the southernmost coast and drop us there. Robert and I can make our own way to the capital from there, you won't need to go anywhere near the demonic hordes or undead dragons or..."

"Larra, you said that about Lorath as well" he interrupted, "and we ended up having to fight off an undead kraken! Davos still refuses to speak to me! One of his kids tried to shoot me with a crossbow!"

"...It wasn't that bad-"

"It totally was, Larra" said Robert, sounding far too amused - "But Salladhor, it will be fine this time. There are small settlements on the southern island, drop us off at one of them." But the pirate still didn't look convinced.

"We only have one part of the Scion" I pointed out, "Without the other two parts it is useless...and worth much less."

"I promised that I would protect you with everything except my own life, Larra" announced Salladhor, "And Valyria is not safe - even for one of your talents. You have heard the stories I assume?" Of course I had. Everyone even remotely interested in history or geography had heard the rumours of wyverns and demons and the living dead. If I was normal (or at least what Westeros defined as normal) I would have fainted at the stories, feigned horror and fear.

But I am not that sort of person. Life's purpose is for discovering things, not being a sad creature locked away in a tower.

"We will be fine" I said, "You know me Salladhor, I've always come out of a situation no matter how bad. I will not fail now." And then, to appeal to the greed that I knew still ran through his veins - "In two months we'll be toasting our success in Volantis, richer than in our wildest dreams. After all, who knows what the dragon lords were hiding in their city apart from the Scion..." I could see him wavering by the second. "The secret behind Valyrian Steel perhaps. Or magic to boggle the mind..."

"Hmm..."

"Imagine the possibilities for when you return to the Stepstones..."

"Oh fine, I'm convinced." the Pirate said, "I'll order the helmsman to set a course. You will be paying for the drinks however Larra, so don't die or we'll have nothing to toast on. You too Bobby." He swept from the room.

"Don't call me Bobby!" Robert yelped after him. I laughed.

"Easy, again" I muttered, failing to hide a smirk.

"You continue to surprise me Larra" Robert rumbled, laying a hand across my own; "Manipulating a poor pirate!"

"Oh, shush." I swatted him away.

- The Silent Port -

Even for a ship as great as the Valyrian, it took an entire month to travel from Lys to the south of the shattered Valyrian peninsula. I'd mostly spent the time reading up on Valyria in my cabin, interspersed with preparing myself (and Robert) for the trials ahead. This involved practising climbing (from deck to crow's nest and back), setting rations, memorising maps and a dozen other tasks to get the body and soul ready for what lay ahead. I had done all of them before of course (with the exception of some of the techniques for coping with heat), but it was important to stay in practice. And besides which, Robert had never been on as long a expedition as this one - or one so far away from any civilisation.

Neither have I, truly. Even beyond the Wall there was still the occasional tribe for me to talk to or trade with. Here they'll be nothing but the echoes of long dead Dragonlords.

When the city finally appeared, it confirmed all my fears. Like a great black spectre it clung to the dark earth, burnt stone buildings still standing like gravestones even when everything had long since been stolen or collapsed. It wasn't massive - about the size of Saltpans perhaps - but the lack of colour made it seem so much larger. This was a city that no longer belonged to man or any other living creature.

The sailors felt it too. Many of them were standing on the port side of the ship, gazing with fear at the ruined city. I feared that if we took too long to go ashore, they would mutiny and not give Robert and I the chance. So after bidding farewell to Salladhor ("Take care of yourselves, both of you. I'll be waiting on that drink."), we heaved ourself into the rowboat he had lent us and set off from the Valyrian. The galleon was quick to move away, helped by the water - utterly calm but murkier than I had ever seen. Even the marshes in the neck had not been like this, for at least you knew what was hidden in them - insects, swamp snakes and lizard-lions.

Anything could be hiding here.

So it was with some relief that I stepped onto dry land, which was a good description considering the eerie lack of tides or waves washing upon the beach. The scorched crags of the inner island loomed ahead as I quietly walked through the ruins of the port (Robert was busy tying up the boat). Many of the buildings still had exquisite carvings unweathered by time; mainly of dragons though with the occasional fire demon or soldier. If there had been more time, I would have sat down to sketch some of the designs for my collections at home - but faced with the coming of night I resolved to set them down later when we made camp.

Walking back to Robert, I asked (even though there was no turning back possible now, as the Pirates were long since gone) "You ready?"

"Ready enough" he replied, hoisting a large satchel onto his back. I admit with no shame that he would be carrying most of the supplies on this journey. The one part of the Scion we already had was nestled safely in mine. Salladhor had offered to protect it himself, but I had politely refused as I knew his greed could sometimes get the better of him. "You?"

"I'm always ready" I replied, "I've got my axes, my bow and my knives. Valyria won't know what's hit it."

- The Camp on the Crag -

The journey to Valyria itself was a long and hard slog across crags, mountains, geysers and a myriad of ruined towns and cities. I could feel my pulse race with every new discovery; whether architecture or pottery or weapon or in one strange case, a long brass instrument. He wasn't expressing it as much as I was, instead trying to act the stoic man (reminded me of Ned) but I could tell he was as thrilled as I was. And not just with the weapons he was planning to add to his collection.

"Read anything interesting in that, Larra?" Robert asked. He was referring to the book I had scavenged from an old mine entrance while hiking the previous day. I was reading it as we sat around the fire that evening at the summit of a crag. He was busy examining the Scion for the first proper time, I admittedly being a bit wary of letting it out of my direct possession. Both of us had stripped down to looser garments to deal with the heat, to a extent where my father would have exploded even though I wasn't exposing any significant amount of skin.

"Lots" I replied, eager to talk about my discoveries. I could of course read High Valyrian, having been taught it by the Maester of Winterfell and later improved on by myself. "It's about the myths of the known world during the Freehold's time. Some ones I've heard before are in here, but there are also tales like 'The Ten Brides of Tornarsuk' or 'The Triach of Iatamay' that I've never heard off before." Robert screwed up his face in thought.

"Iatamay...I've heard that name before" he mused, "Iatamay, Iatamue, Mayatai...hang on, that's an anagram of Yamatai! The mystical city from the poem, you know?" I searched my memory. The name certainly rang a bell...

"Yamatai, cursed Isle...land of ancient lore?"

"Across the sea, beneath the waves, lost for evermore" Robert finished and grinned. "My father taught it to me as a boy from one of his trips to Essos." I felt a brief twinge of jealousy. My father had only been south briefly to visit court and my mother had never even done that, regardless of her own wishes. I had traveled further than both of them in half the time.

Oh mother, if only you were still alive for me to show you all I've discovered...

My mother, Lyarra Stark had always wanted to explore the world herself - the blood of her Flint mother (my grandmother) calling her to wander and sail to the horizon and then beyond. It was only because of my grandfather that she was unable to, he being more keen on preparing her for a role as future Lady of Winterfell. But ever since I was a baby, she had sung to me and spoke of the wide world and it's secrets. It was no coincidence that I had first 'vanished' a week after her death in-

"I'll see what else it says about Yamatai" I said. Robert nodded and set back to examining the Scion. I allowed myself to rest on the rocks. A comfortable silence descended.

"'The Triach of Iatamay'" I began to read, "'a tale of the lost continent, its rulers and their divine power.' Divine Power...we'll have to put down whatever that is for a future quest, it sounds interesting."

"Moving on..." Robert said.

"Oh fine, 'Once there was a prosperous land far to the south' - Sothoryos? I wouldn't call that prosperous. Anyway, 'This land knew no war or strife, governed as it was by the immortal triach of siblings: Tihocan, Qualopec and Natlira. The Triach's were both beloved and feared by their people due to their overwhelming power gained from the Scion of Iata'-wait, the Scion?"

The Scion of Yeen?

Robert had already twigged to what I suspected. "You think it means this Scion?" he asked, holding the relevant object up; "You were told it came from Sothoryos."

"By Lady Natla, who wanted it for herse-hang on, Natla? The queen in the story way called Natla wasn't she?" He shrugged. I checked. "Natlira...Natla, there could be a connection there."

"It seems a bit iffy, going on about possible name connections" Robert said, "It could be true, but it's more likely there's no relation at all."

"I don't believe in coincidence" I said, "and it is an odd name. And an odd word to use twice. Let me think..." I rubbed my forehead, "The note from Corys said he found this part in Yeen and he assumed it was the original location. Maybe the name stuck?"

"Possibly" Robert allowed, "Maybe the next part will shed some clues. And on another note, considering the fire we should probably turn in." The fire had settled down to quiet flickering.

"Are you avoiding me?" I asked.

"No, of course not Larra" he replied, "I never would!" He face was pink. "It's just...really late and we've got a lot to do tomorrow, goodnight!" He crawled into his tent as fast as he could manage, leaving the Scion and a boot behind him.

"...I thought I was the weird one" I muttered, "Chicken!"

I heard snoring in reply.

- Valyria -

It took another day and a half before we finally reached the ruins of Valyria itself. We didn't enter that day, both of us believing that such an expedition should wait until the sun had risen anew. The camp was silent as we waited, Robert sharpening his dagger and the spike on his warhammer as I puzzled once more over the Scion. I had been trying to figure out how it would fit together with its other part; puzzling over notches and gears in the hope that they would provide an answer. But all too soon, the sun rose in a grey sky and we descended into the silent city.

Half-melted towers loomed above us as we crept through the streets - though calling them that was an exaggeration as any sort of paving or order had long since vanished, replaced by rubble and loose boulders. One of them was divided in half by a massive chasm which I swore was glowing at the bottom. Far from the city of shining spires I had often imagined it as, the Dragonlords' home was...dead. More like the ruined castle of Harrenhal than anything else, but a million times more ominous.

And the worst part? It was utterly, oppressively silent. No rustling of leaves, no creaking of stone or wood, no cries of birds. Not even the wind had stirred itself, leaving our footsteps as the only noise in...the...city. Neither of us could bear to make a joke or comment and I confess, I considered turning back more than once. Even my ever present love for exploring and discovering couldn't rouse itself, leaving me alone with dark thoughts and fears.

Both of us kept a weapon out and in our hands, Robert passing his hammer between his and nervously looking around. My Valyrian axe tingled in my hand, as if the metalwork recognised its place of forging. It felt that at any moment some horror could leap out to murder us, from the shadows of a building or a chasm in the street. But nothing attacked, no demons or monsters appeared.

Only death resided in the ruins of Valyria.

It was a relief when we came across our destination, signalled at last by a massive triangle positioned over stairs leading down. Three small figures were positioned at each edge of the triangle; one with a spear, one with a bow and one with a trident. But for whatever reason, the figure of the woman holding a bow - depicted with sharp, elongated features - had received multiple slashes that were unmistakably the work of man. But it was the names that drew the most of my attention.

"Tihocan, Qualopec and...well you must be Natlira" I muttered, for the woman's name had been rendered unreadable. "I was right." Robert placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I never doubted you" he said. I raised an eyebrow.

"I seem to remember differently" I said, though not harshly.

"Well...maybe a little" he replied, "But in my defence it really was quite a stretch."

I hummed in admittance. I was briefly tempted to take his hand as we descended once more, fearful of what awaited us. But instead I lit a torch and led the way.

Unnoticed by either me or Robert, the sound of more footsteps came from above.

- The Tomb of Tihocan -

A dark chamber awaited us at the bottom of the stairs, filled with the rubble of pillars and an ancient roof. Doors were lying broken at the far end, the metal of one of them having melted into the floor itself. We progressed through their broken doorframe, careful to not disturb the potentially weak walls and risk having the complex collapse with us inside. An old key lay among some rubble, until it was taken by me in case it proved of use.

A massive statue awaited us in the next room. Designed after a bearded man planting a trident into the ground, it sat upon an impressive throne with the name 'Tihocan' carved into the base in High Valyrian. No exits aside from the one we had entered through led into the room, but my explorer's intuition took me towards the base of the statue.

"This must be his tomb" I muttered, "Notice the sideways cross - it's a sign to protect the bodies of the dead in Valyrian culture. Some of the tombs in Volantis bear the same symbol."

"It's a gloomy place" Robert replied, "I wouldn't like to be buried here. It'd be better to be among your family, or failing that just under the sky. Not a dark hole like this." I was about to agree with a comment about the Winterfell crypts, before I spotted a small snake carved with care into the stonework. And this one had been done much more recently than anything else I had seen on this journey. I pressed into the tile beneath it and with a grinding of ancient stone, a section of the floor in front of the statue retreated - revealing yet another flight of dark stairs.

"Corys Velaryon" I said to Robert, "Giving us a helping hand from the past." He grinned and we descended into the final chamber of Tihocan's tomb. Only to be met by sudden light with a horde of torches igniting around a large figure. I immediately dropped my torch, my now free left hand grasping for my other axe as a heavily armoured figure stepped forward. He was twice the size of a normal man, and wielded an immense mace of what looked like bone.

"You take the left" I ordered as the figure bellowed and advanced. I rushed forward myself in challenge.

As the mace swung down I leaped onto it and then onto the colossus's shoulders, before slamming my axes into the back of his neck. Robert meanwhile leaped to the left side and swung at a leg with his hammer, in an attempt to immediately cripple the creature. None of our attacks had an effect. The creature batted me off with another hand before I could blink and then swung the mace at Robert...

...who barely dodged, rolling onto his back thrice to avoid two more attacks. And I slid between the giant's legs and sunk both my axes into its groin.

Understandably, the monster screamed with pain and Robert winced. I rolled out of the way as he slammed a foot down to crush me, with me taking the opportunity to slice that leg as I retreated to brief safety. Robert however, charged at the giant and slammed his weapon anew into the beast's knee - forcing it to the ground with the combined damage. But it was still a threat, if only for the rapid punches and swipes it was throwing around now that it was unable to use the mace. One of them hit Robert in the chest, sending him flying back into a wall. And I saw red.

I brought him here. You will not harm him!

I roared myself as I rushed at the creature, dodging its swipes to plunge my dagger - the one Robert himself had given me - into its eye and again into the other. As the creature roared I did so again, flipping over its head to cling on from the other side. It's fists could not harm me. Nothing could harm me in my fury and rage and wrath. I screeched myself with every blow and dig into his foul flesh. And so I defeated the demon and smote him finally with my axe, decapitating him once he had fully collapsed to make sure he was completely finished.

And then I rushed to Robert. "Are you okay? Where are you hurt-do you need-"

"Larra" he groaned, "I'm fine. Seriously, I'm just a bit winded."

"Are you sure?" I asked again, "We have medicine in the bags-"

"Larra" he said, "You're panicking. Relax, I'll be fine in a moment. It's nothing time won't fix." Reluctantly I drew my eyes away and saw what the warrior had been guarding.

Scion part 2.

As I drew closer I could see the subtle differences to the part we already had and the way the two of them fit together. A small gear here, a indent there. With a grin, I drew out the other part to combine them...

Only to be interrupted when a man's voice spoke.

"If you could just hand those over to me, I would be very grateful."

Chapter Text

Interlude: Lahra in Valyria 

After seeing to the remains of the Demon and undead Ironborn, Robert and I began the trek back towards our campsite. The two parts of the Scion rested at the bottom of my bag, tucked securely where they could not easily be seen. Despite the heat and the worry over further attack, my heart was light with the knowledge that only one more part remained to be found. The surroundings also assisted my mood, as the afternoon light had softened the edges of the ruins somewhat and they now stood open, ready to be explored.

In all honesty, I probably shouldn’t have considered this an opportunity; not when danger could come from any direction and when the towers looked ready to collapse at a moment’s notice. But…I was an adventurer at heart and with this perhaps being my only chance…

Oh, screw it!

“You go on ahead” I said to Robert, “I want to look around for a bit, check if there’s anything interesting lurking in these spires.”

He looked uncomfortable at the prospect. “Are you sure Larra? Those buildings don’t look stable.”

I shrugged. “I’ve thought about that” I lied, “And to prevent any injuries from occurring I will restrain myself from going above the second floor. Or third floor if it looks decent.”

“Are you sure you won’t be tempted?” he asked, “I mean this is basically Lorath again.”

“Robert” I frowned, “We don’t talk about Lorath. And those weren’t towers, they were hellpits. Now hurry and I might be back before sundown. Maybe.”

He sighed. “If you say so…” He walked away, shaking his head in what couldn’t have been exasperation. I heard what sounded like a chuckle before the road twisted and the man moved out of my sight. I was left alone, with ruins all around me.

I smiled.

Right then! Which one of you is the biggest?

I had selected a monster of a tower as my first target, a grey thing made from what could have once been marble. Its peak was crowned with a misshapen iron globe that now resembled a malformed spiderweb, with sharp spikes poking out in every direction. The entry level revealed a spiral staircase stretching up to a distant sky, with scorched steps impaled in the walls. Worryingly, there was no handrail, so I was forced to cling onto the black walls to ensure my safety. In all honesty, that was part of the fun – that sense of danger and the risk of breaking my neck if I made a wrong move. It brought me back to my love of the Winterfell Crypts when I was a little girl.

To my disappointment, the tower was mostly empty of anything interesting to retrieve. One floor had a few shards of glass lying beneath a great opening, though the glass itself was now blackened and twisted from some great fire. I took them regardless, because at least it was a spot of color in this dark wilderness. Another floor revealed the burned remains of a library, now only with the stone shelves truly intact. Ashes were what remained of the books and scrolls, though a few less destroyed ones were taken to examine later. It wasn’t what I had hoped for, though in fairness my loose idea of finding a guide to Valyrian Steel was implausible at best. Still, it was best to keep going. A small chance was better than none, after all.

The higher I climbed, the more open the tower became to the elements. Soon I was not ascending a staircase any more, merely isolated bricks that required the use of my axe as a stabilizer, it’s ever present coolness a relief in this heat. If this had been anywhere else, the wind would have been a major threat – but even the elements were dead in Valyria. The next landing beckoned. I leaped…missed…and fell down, down, down into darkness.

When I awoke, I was elsewhere.

Or was I?

No, I was still in the tower, but now it was whole once again. The great holes that had threatened to collapse the monolith were nonexistent. The windows once more bore beautiful glass panes, styled after creatures I had never seen. The walls were white and no longer blackened. They were hung with a pair of beautiful tapestries, which I rose from the bed – itself the height of luxury – to admire. One depicted a stormy sea where two ships dueled within a great maelstrom; one with pitch black sails and one with them colored a sickly green. They were of a kind unknown to Westeros, great galleons that would have towered above even a swan ship from the Summer Isles. Even in the midst of battle they were magnificent, as if the gods themselves had descended to clash on the mortal plane. The other tapestry also depicted a battle scene, but on land instead of water. Four people fought within a swirling vortex, their features obscured by darkness even as their eyes glowed in the gloom. A fifth which was draconian in shape lurked in the background, as did a great bronze bull, two identical barbarians and a monstrous rat.

I traced the features of one of the figures, a man with eyes of blue and the wings of a bird. There was something…familiar about him, something that made my heart shiver as if filled with ice. My silver hair swam in the breeze…

Wait. Silver…hair?

By some sorcery, my hair had taken on the shade that the Targaryens enjoyed; a shade of pale blonde that shone in the candlelight. I looked for a water basin. The room was filled with all manner of curiosities and appliances, from a table made from gorgeous dark wood to vases that could only have come from Yi-Ti. And the air was humming with magic. Purple candles lined the walls, giving off a soft light that rivalled the sun. Jade and Ivory sculptures sat on the windowsill, the stones twisted into forms far too complex for a mortal man to have achieved. Even the water basin was odd, as the water within it showed no bottom to the bowl and a sky that could not be seen.

As I had suspected, my features looked Valyrian. Purple eyes, silver hair, tanned skin – even my clothes had changed from chainmail and leathers into a long purple gown of silk. A golden amulet was wrapped around my arm; a dragon eating it’s own tail, akin to the arms of House Toland of Dorne. I wondered at the meaning of it here. For the Dornish, it had been a record of Aegon the Conqueror’s arrogance and stupidity: why would a Valyrian associate herself with the symbol, even in jest?

Despite the changes, the woman in the reflection was clearly me. We had the same face, the same lines and taught features that spoke of hardship. Even the scars were the same, as the scar on my left cheek that I had gotten in Braavos remained. What did it mean then? Was this some unheard-of ancestor or was this some strange ‘what if?’ vision.

“None of this makes sense…” I muttered to my reflection, “This is some sort of magic, but what?”

There were few personal artefacts in the room, which all of sudden looked bare behind the enforced elegance. This wasn’t a home, merely a resting place used more than once. But even the small artefacts could hold clues. A yellow ring left to the dust on a sill. A map of the peninsula, beautifully painted but stained and graffitied. A white cloak and hood built for labor, that contrasted against the rest of the room.

Then I heard a cheer of joy from outside. Striding over to the window, I only gaped in awe at the impossible site beyond. The towers that had once been ruined now stood proud and tall, dwarfing all who came before them. Some were white in color, some purple, some red – all the shades of the rainbow and more were displayed in these spires reaching up to the heavens. My tower wasn’t even the tallest of them now, it wasn’t even half the size of an immense spiral across the street that rose for a thousand leagues into the air. And even beyond the towers, the dirty land had been reshaped into gorgeous gardens and fields that stretched to the horizon. The land itself looked different, as the harsh mountains and crags now danced under rows of flowers and hedges. Among them walked the inhabitants of this city, silver haired men and women who could have been called gods even compared to the Targaryens of the modern era, for their beauty was nothing but ashes compared to that of their forefathers.

The skies of this city were not occupied by birds of course, but by dragons of all sizes and colors. Compared to them, even the people below lost their splendor for who could compare to beasts such as these.

“Valyria…” I breathed.

I had to go and look at it closer, I needed to walk in those fields and climb those towers, I needed…

Does this girl…Is this girl a Dragonrider?

I ran out of my room, the clothes ready for the day ignored in my hurry. Even my axe was left behind, abandoned on the dresser where it had been left last night. I did not need them, what harm could befall me-

The ground shook and I stumbled to the edge of the stairs. The candles on the walls flickered, their light suddenly seeming cold and damp. Looking down, I remembered just how far up I was... In the light of the candles, the exquisite marble looked like bones; freshly sharpened but always small, never fully grown. A child’s bones, left to rot in this tower…in the dark…

Look closer.

This tower descended far too deeply for it to have an end on the surface. The torches only went so far and even the marble seemed ‘stained’ in the depths. The now constant tremors were a warning, a hint at something hiding beneath all this luxury.

“Come and look” it whispered, “Come and look Lahra. Let the troubles of the past die, just let them just float away…”

I shuddered in sudden fear and raced up a floor. My dress whipped around my ankles, the fine silk not sewn for a purpose such as this. I knew that something…it, the thing in the depths – I knew that it hungered for this girl. I knew that it had followed her and…a vase? A blue flask? I could catch glimpses of the girl’s memories, but nothing more – she and that thing were still an enigma, but of unknown importance.

I reached the tower’s peak. The iron structure that had stood ruined in the present, stood whole again. Its twisted spires rose in a sphere around me and above me, the glass within shining the color of dawn. But the room was empty and abandoned. Dust clung to every surface and the few candles here were broken and dull.

Another mystery of the tower then.

Another tremor and the resulting screams from below.

In the center of the room stood a small monolith, carved out of white marble in the image of flames. I feared it instantly, the dread of the unknown filling me at the sight of it. But I still approached it. This was the centerpoint of the dream and whatever answers there were to be found were here.

Before and After. Continue then, little one. I will wait.

When I returned to the campsite, Robert was already asleep in his tent. Above us the southern sky shone with the light of a thousand stars, their glow spiralling into a myriad of constellations that one could never have seen in Westeros. Under them, even the wasteland of the city-that-was looked gentler and revealed some of the majesty it no longer had.

The stone in my bag was heavy, it’s triangular caving carrying a hint of cruelty even when broken. It knocked against the pieces of the Scion, the resulting crackle of energy striking me even through the chainmail.

“Coblyion! Come! Where are you, Coblyion!”

My features had returned to normal. But the Dragon amulet had stayed on my arm, it’s meaning still unclear.

Chapter Text

Part 3: Quest

- The Tomb of Tihocan -

"If you could just hand those over to me, I would be very grateful" said the man approaching from the shadows, three others with bows drawn following in his wake. From the look of them they were Ironborn in origin; brown of hair with sharp, hollow features - though all sharing the same shining blue eyes, uncommon in the isles. Their leader even had a kraken sewn into his doublet, though in a deep purple instead of the usual gold. All of the group however had heavily weathered clothes, some even half rotten - the journey here had not been easy on them either apparently.

But why would there be Ironborn here of all places?

With the two archers present it would have been a fool's move to charge the men, so I instead slowly approached as their leader wished - frantically attempting to devise a distraction. While I might have been able to close the distance and so render their weapons useless, Robert - still winded from the battle with the Demon and limping - would be too vulnerable to being pelted with arrows. So I decided to play for time.

"What are Ironborn doing here?" I asked, trying to keep hostility out of my voice as I moved closer. "I would have thought your kind preferred the open seas rather than a baking ruin." The man smirked.

"The same reason as you, Larra Stark" the Greyjoy replied, "Because I was invited. Now then - before you get any closer, throw away your weapons. You too Baratheon, I see you skulking around back there." I couldn't keep a scowl off my face.

Well that's one plan gone immediately.

"Asked by who?" Robert growled as he threw the warhammer down by his feet. I was doing the same with my axes and bow, but for now I still had three hidden daggers to use if I could just get closer. The Greyjoy's lip curled.

"The Goddess of Yeen came to me in a dream" he said, "Offering a great reward if I brought back her prized possession to Yeen. Being a reasonable man, I agreed and was spurred on your way by a a a smuggler with connections to a certain 'Salladhor'. Perhaps the goddess feared you wouldn't be willing to return it, considering some of the rumours about what you keep at Winterfell. Honour only goes so far."

"The Goddess of Yeen?" I laughed, "If we have been tricked here by the same person - as I expect - then let me tell you, she is no Goddess. Mad maybe, or perhaps paranoid or desperate considering she has led us both here - but mortal." Though my suspicion about Lady Natla's connection to the Scion did seem more even more plausible now. No matter, once we'd escaped from here I could pay her a visit and get the full truth.

One way or another...

The Greyjoy's responding slap caused me to yelp in pain. "You do not understand." The Greyjoy tore the incomplete Scion out of my hands. "There are forces at work here more powerful than you can imagine, can you not see that? I had expected more of you I confess..." He raised a dagger to my throat, the cold steel cutting into my throat. "But now I see you are just like every other-!"

In one fluid movement I had wrenched my dagger out from between his legs and shoved him towards one of his men. The other Ironborn fired a shot - just missing my ear - and I screamed "Robert now!" The two of us charged into the fray as one; Robert kicking his warhammer into his hands and swinging at one Ironborn as I threw my dagger into the other's neck.

Strangely enough, neither of our strikes managed to kill our targets. My opponent choked out a laugh as he pulled an axe from his belt, pus pouring out of the wound in his neck. And then I felt a presence behind me and was forced to duck as the castrated Greyjoy thrust his dagger where I had just been standing.

Impossible. To strug off those attacks they must be immune to pain...

From what I could hear of Robert, the man he was fighting shared the unnatural resistance to pain. But what was the cause? The Ironborn had no magic...Struggling to figure out the cause I retreated. It was only when the man I had stabbed wrenched my dagger out of his neck with one hand, leaving a long gash that should have killed him I realised the obvious truth. They weren't just immune to pain, they were immune to everything because they were already dead. Their rotten clothes. Natla's easy convincing of these men - worshippers of the Drowned God, not other Gods or Goddesses! And their shining blue eyes.

"Wights!" I yelled, "Robert! They're Wights!" And the Head Ironborn's cackle practically confirmed it as he and his minions swung back impossibly at the two of us. I barely parried the attack with my second dagger, though the resulting blow forced the blade out of my hand. Robert was faring slightly better, his armour and warhammer allowing him to be a threat even to these shades of men but I knew that if they were to be defeated permanently we would need fire. The experience in Lorath had taught me that, when one of our attackers had been knocked into a furnace and instantly disposed off. Knocking them in wouldn't be an option with the Ironborn unfortunately, these wights seemed smarter than any I had met before - cunning, almost real men. But if I could trick them in...

The obvious question of course is where I would source the fire from. I had matches in my pockets, though I was becoming increasingly low on number due to the many campfires I had needed to start on the journey here. But they might be unneeded (and more to the point difficult to use), as there was light illuminating this room. Some appeared to be coming from the Scion lying where I had dropped it, but most coming from the torches positioned around where the colossus had once stood. Tricking them into the braziers was unlikely, but thankfully I still had rope on me. The rope I used was of a special make, purchased from a harbourmaster in Lys to be strong, light and crucially resistant to fire. And even more importantly, one end had already been fashioned into a harness due to a false superstition on my part that climbing would be necessary.

And so with a cunning forged from years of danger, I subtly led my opponent towards his doom. On the way there I faked a stumble to retrieve one of my axes , pretending to panic before the wooden handle came into my outstretched hand - though sadly it was not the Valyrian Steel one. My fake panic would drive the Ironborn to overconfidence, convince him that he had already won this battle and therefore - I hoped - blind him to my true plan.

Confidence is the first part of any strategy. If I believe in myself how can I fail?

"Foolish Girl!" barked the Wight, "Did you think you a chance against me! I am eternal! I am the End!" There was another voice under the Ironborn's own now, an dark tone speaking with the anger and bitterness of generations. Perhaps the person who was controlling the Wights? I hadn't considered the possibility that humans could create the undead, but there was nothing to say it was impossible - indeed there was some evidence to say otherwise considering the rumours about the Priesthood of the Red God.

"Who are you?" I snapped in return, "And why are you after the Scion? What does it mean to you?" But the Wight and the person behind it only laughed in answer and before long it was too late to question it further.

Block. Parry. Block. Par-now!

I threw the rope out behind me, felt it wrap around something and yanked the brazier towards me. I ducked to allow it to fly over my head and as I hoped, it struck the Greyjoy straight across the face. Being a wight, he burst into flames immediately but before he could truly react to that fact I had already turned my attention to Robert's second opponent. Both of my friend's foes had lost arms and suffered multiple impacts from his warhammer. Naturally they were both moving slower as a result, as even immunity to pain couldn't protect them from the physical effects of loosing large chunks of their body. With my second swing I managed to strike one of them, the impact of the torch also smashing him off his feet and giving Robert the opportunity to cave in his skull.

With two of the wights now burning, the other was left defenceless before the attacks of both Robert and I. Soon he had joined them in a makeshift bonfire in the centre of the room, along with the demon in case whatever magic had resurrected the men tried to turn it as well.

I admit I'm being slightly paranoid, but under the circumstances it seems justified.

Robert was affected as well. "Why would there be wights here?" he questioned, "We couldn't be further away from the Wall - or for that matter from any place that the Others could take power from. Valyria was the home of the Dragonlords after all."

"I know" I replied, "Or rather I don't, Robert." I tried to collect my thoughts, an issue since my mind was still running a marathon after fighting for my life. "They could talk...or at least whoever was controlling them could make them talk."

"Perhaps this Goddess of Yeen" Robert muttered, "Some of the legends from the Grey Waste spoke of Bloodless Men; maybe they could be another variety of Wight?"

"But Yeen in is Sothoryos" I said, "And so was that legend we spoke about - and so too was the name Natla; remember Natlira?"

"I remember" Robert replied, "But that doesn't answer the question: why were the Wights here? Not how, why?"

"They were here to kill us?" I said, almost whispering what I felt was the obvious answer. A bead of cold sweat was slowly making its way down my spine.

Robert smiled. "Were they? Remember what their leader asked at the start?"

"He...asked for the Scion" I recalled, picking up the artifact from where it had fallen. Thankfully it was undamaged, though the two pieces had come apart once again. "But if there is a 'Goddess of Yeen', why couldn't she retrieve the pieces of her artifact herself? Why involve us at all?" Robert nudged the mace left behind by the colossus.

"Perhaps she feared this thing" he suggested, "Or didn't feel she could enter the locations herself - maybe the Sea Snake found some magic to keep her out? There were rumours that Corys was a sorcerer."

"He at least had enough magic to create the wights we fought in Lys" I confirmed, "and those too were of a different type, far more skeletal than any we've encountered before." I mused for a second. "And this was the Tomb of Tihocan, one of the rulers of Yamatai. Maybe the Valyrians cast magic on it to repel grave robbers?" Robert nodded again.

"It's not uncommon in Valyrian culture" he said, "The tombs of Dragonstone apparently have the same wards, as does Storm's End since the time of Old Orys. I never believed in it myself but...hmm."

"What?"

"Perhaps we're thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe the magic wasn't cast to dissuade all grave robbers, only some in particular."

"Namely the Goddess and her agents" I responded, "Possibly Lady Natla's bloodline directly, remember her family only came to Westeros in the last 300 years. They could be directly descended from Yamatain refugees; they could consider the Scion their birthright." I began to pace. "And that's why she set us up to find the artifact; she literally couldn't even with whatever magic her family has held onto. She needed someone unaffiliated to retrieve the pieces and then her agents could intervene once that was done." Robert was about to reply, but instead looked around sharply.

"I think we better discuss this elsewhere" he said, "We've stood here for too long and the 'Goddess' could have other agents. We need to head out."

Before any other wights appear, yes. The three we met might not have been alone.

I nodded. "Agreed" I replied, "We'll head back to the boat and we can get wherever we need to from there. Plus, we'll be much harder to track at sea."

- The Dead Penisula -

The journey back to our boat was long and tedious, especially when we were forced to take a detour due to fears of being followed. Any possibility of taking the Ironborn transport had been dismissed due to how unlikely it was that we would find their ship. The days dragged on longer and longer until both our tempers were frayed to constant fury at the world - at each other. The heat failed to help, nor did the lack of sleep as we both insisted that one person would always have to be on watch in case of an attack. And even then, when I could sleep my dreams were dark and troubled...

----------------

"The prince's armies move north, my lord" said the messenger, "They mean to force battle when the dawn comes."

The man sat at the desk smirked. "So the mad fool seeks to go on the offensive" he murmured, "Curious considering his forces are far smaller than our own, since the Dornish have refused to ally with him." His red hair glowed in the light of a large fire. "What did he hope to achieve, demanding that the Stark Girl be brought to him and then doing this once he was refused?"

"I don't know my Lord." The Tully frowned.

"Ready the troops for a slaughter" he said, "This should be easy."

----------------

When I woke up I couldn't remember any of the dream, only recalling a distant feeling of dread for my father and brothers. If I focused hard I could recall something about a fish? Maybe a prince?

Which doesn't narrow it down at all.

Robert was much the same, though with nightly visions even worse than mine. I had heard him crying put in anger and fear; demanding for someone to "Let them go!" or "Save them!" But much like me, he couldn't remember who exactly he had wanted to save or who he had wanted to slay - only half-thoughts of giant lizards and the bowels of a ship. I wondered (privately) if the lizards were connected to House Targaryen and their dragon banners; but I was always stumped by my belief that Robert would know a dragon, recognise the House of his grandmother. We had both been taught the noble houses since birth, especially the ones we were most connected to by blood or tribute. For Robert that would most definitely included the Targaryens, considering his own House's status as descendants from a Targaryen bastard.

But I was sure that I knew the true cause of our dreams and for once on this trip it had nothing to do with mysterious artefacts or sunken kingdoms or false benefactors. I suspected that Valyria itself was responsible for our troubles, the home of the Dragonlords furious at mortals daring to disturb its rest. The ground was alive with constant rumbling and geysers of liquid fire emerged frequently from the blackened rock. Mist clung close to the earth, sometimes making it difficult to see our own hands or potential approaching threats. And the heat - the heat of the land burnt down against our backs, browning them with smoke and boiling our blood where we stood. We had to get off this island now, without any delay - not for exploration or discovery; not even for supplies. I had hoped to look for the secret behind Valyrian Steel while I was here, to search the old ruins for clues and answers.

Now I know that such an action would be folly...for this time at least.

The climate was an uncomfortable reminder of the trip I took beyond the Wall to search for the Horn of Winter (an artefact my father had insisted on imprisoning in Winterfell's deepest vault). The same feeling of constant oppression had been present there, though the weather was a fair bit cooler. That had been before Robert had joined my travels, back when he had only been a distant friend of my brother's in the Vale. Back when it had just been me against the world...

I was surprised to realise I didn't miss it. Some explorers might have been annoyed to suffer a constant follower, especially when they wanted what I knew Robert quietly did. But he had proved his worth quickly, shown himself to be more than a load, more than an extra weight on my shoulders...even showing himself to be a friend? I'd never had friends in Winterfell, only companions and brothers...I didn't know what to think about it all. I enjoyed his company, appreciated his thoughts and yet I didn't love him - at least not in the way he gazed on me. But I did...need him beside me, with the pleasure of his company just as wonderful as any artefact or tomb. I didn't love him but I wanted our travels to never end.

So when Robert finally sat down and spoke the night before we would have finally returned to the boat, it stung. "Larra" he began, "I've been thinking and..." He struggled internally for a second. "I think I should return to Storm's End."

I hadn't quite picked up on the seriousness in his tone and so replied "Sure. Once we've set off from here we can head to your home. The defences there will probably mean that we don't need to worry about any more wights while we figure out where the final piece is."

"I...I'm not sure if I can help you with that Larra" he mumbled, flinching when I looked up at him with wide eyes. "I've been abandoning my duties as a Lord and a brother and...that demon must have knocked some sense into me because I've finally realised how awful I've been."

"But you haven't been awful" I said.

"I've abandoned my little brother to rule Storm's End in my place" he replied, "I've left both of them alone to deal with the loss of our parents while I hid in booze and whores and...this. I should know better, I should have done better before-"

"Your brothers will be fine" I snapped, then immediately regretted it. "Sorry" I said in a quieter tone, "But is your worth giving up your happiness for duty? I know you don't want to rule Robert, I know the feeling of staying in one place too long burns at you just like me..." Or perhaps I didn't and was just imagining that I did. "I...I need you."

"I don't think it matters what any of us want, Larra" Robert replied, "I want...you to be happy. I want to know that but-" He swallowed. "We're not the only people in the world; we shouldn't - we can't act like we are. Stannis and Renly, they are so young and it's only now I've realised that." He chuckled bitterly. "Maybe it's the air here, I've heard the smell of death can make you morose."

And despite my angriest attempts at denying it, I understood. Wouldn't I myself give up everything to protect a family member? Wouldn't I be willing to yield myself down as a wife-a slave if it ensured Brandon, Eddard or Benjen lived another day? Would I? ...could I?

"Your brothers could come with us." The words tumbled from my lips.

"Could they?" he said, "Renly is five. Stannis believes in duty above all else. And even if they could-" He brought his leg into the firelight. "I'm still limping over a week on, still struggling to move at more than a light jog. What if we need to escape danger? What if we need to fight for our lives?"

"We win!" I spat, "We always win, we don't give up, we keep going! The world's too big a place for you to hide in some castle with your brothers! Don't throw this away, don't throw me away! Robert!"

"Larra" he said and he would not meet my eyes. "Everything that has a beginning, has an end. We can't keep running for ever, the future will not let us."

"It will let me" I said, before stalking back into the tent.

- The Ruined Harbour -

I tried to avoid Robert the next day, even when he attempted to meet my eyes and opened his mouth to speak. I knew-I knew that I was acting childish. Of course his brothers were more important than adventuring with me, that couldn't reasonably be questioned. But even with that, he was still my first friend and so his revelation hurt like hell.

I understood. I hated it but I understood.

It was this land I decided, this scorched pile of rock with its black towers and broken bridges that had so ruined my happiness. Would that we had never come here, ventured into this mass grave of dragons and their riders where demons lurked in every shadow and smoke covered the sun. Both us were beyond grimy, covered in dust from the tomb and the crags, from hiding in shadows to sliding down mountainsides. And our food supplies got ever slower and our tempers ever worse.

It was a relief when the azure Sea finally appeared on the horizon and the crags opened up to reveal the ruined harbour where we had begun this part of the adventure. With every step we took, the situation seemed better and the world less awful. The clouds parted and for the first time in a month it was the sun's heat that beat down on our necks, not that of fire and brimstone. In the light of the early morning, even the ruined city looked gentler and less twisted. And with it my bad mood started to lift, my heart soaring with the smell of salt and an ocean breeze.

"Robert" I began, only for the man to gasp and run before I could continue. He had spotted a shape in the boat tied where had left it, tall and straight - almost like a man casting off...

I ran after Robert.

It turned out there would be no need for our weapons, the man was already long dead. A crimson gash shone along his throat, though judging from the colour it had been over a month since he had been murdered - clearly no threat to me or Robert. But that did not mean he was unimportant, for his appearance tied to the mast in our boat still begged the question of who had brought a man in Baratheon livery to Valyria.

Robert was shaking. "Larra..." he said, in stone bordering on becoming a growl. "Larra, look." His outstretched hand grasped a crumpled piece of parchment; stained from the weather and embellished with the same drawing of three people from the Tomb of Tihocan. Only now the woman stood triumphant over the two men, raising a golden circle high over their heads. And as I took it and read it's contents, I trembled with both fear and anticipation:

'If you desire to see your brothers again Orys-son, travel to Yeen. Bring the Scion...and the girl.'

The Legend Unfolds...

Chapter Text

Interlude - Fifty Men on a Dead Man's Chest

The Sunset Sea, during the War of the Mad Prince

Kneeling on his wrecked ship with dead and wounded crewmen lying all around, Balon cursed the Gods - Drowned, Old and Seven alike. Most of all he cursed the Storm God for the ruin he had brought upon the heralds of his rival, even if the summoned storm had long abated.

By some dark miracle his ship was still afloat, even now when it lay in two pieces torn apart by that damned kraken (the irony was not appreciated). When it had first struck, Balon thought they had somehow hit a sandbar - which was impossible, he knew these seas like the back of his hand: There was no land this far out from the mainland! But then the tentacles had begun scaling the sides of his ship, tearing apart masts and men alike; crushing the ship in half with no care about his men's pitiful efforts. And even that had not been the end of it, for then the sea had thrown up an army of foul half-breeds; wretched abominations of man and fish and barnacle and rot.

It was a group of those demons who now stood over him, cackling and cheering at their easy victory. The sight of them was sickening - were these the Deep Ones his mad brother had spoken about? Or the Merlings Aeron had mentioned?...no. These men had once been human, that was clear despite their twisted forms. Despite their melted features and broken shapes, despite the swords fused with flesh and the barnacles that had grown inside their throats. Then perhaps - the thought was terrifying - perhaps these were servants of the Drowned God? Sailors from his sunken halls who had returned to the world of the living? Was this was awaited him and his men, was this the exalted life that the Drowned Priests had foretold?

The clunk of a peg-leg and the quiet murmur of "Captain" alerted him to a new arrival of the remains of his ship. Balon attempted to straighten up, to cast his eyes upon the source of his doom - only for one of the mutated crewmen to slam it's weapon into the nape of his neck, sending him back onto the shattered planks beneath him. One of the crewmen, some sort of shark hybrid spoke up - "Seven men still alive, the rest have moved on." He was answered by silence, before the captain moved again; accompanied by the single slam of a boot and the clunk of his lost leg. Balon's neck stung, a new wound bleeding guiltily down his back. All he could see of the captain was a rotten boot and the remnants of a leg mutilated by the sea like the rest of his crew. A harsh smell filled his throat and from above there was the brief light of a flame.

When the captain spoke, it was with a voice came from everywhere; timeless, twisted and with the harshness of death and everlasting regret. "Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare. All your sins punished. I can offer you...an escape." In some way the words he was saying might have been friendly, kind even. But Balon recognised the tone behind them, that of a cold and dark intelligence with no regard for the short lives of man. He continued, "I offer you a choice. Join my crew...and postpone the judgment. One hundred years before the mast. Will ye serve?"

To Balon's surprise, the sailor who commanded the captain's attention spat in his face. For a moment afterwards the world was silent, as even the wind and the waves waited to see how the demon would respond. He laughed and with a single gesture ordered his men to throw the man overboard. A resounding crunch echoed up from the deep, presumably from the kraken still holding up Balon's ruined ship. Not that Balon cared, all he could focus on was the sound of the captain moving once again and the sharp pain as a massive crab claw grasped him around the neck and pulled him upwards.

"Are you the captain of this...vessel?" asked the demon. Balon didn't answer, he was too busy gibbering with terror inflicted by the sight of the man's head.

Because It wasn't a man.

It was the face of a kraken - unadorned, unchanged, unbroken - tentacles writhing in madness and fury. There were no points of reference for him to understand, no human features for him to emphasise with. Just the darkness of his House's sigil and the dark eyes of a demon. In some ways the being resembled an ancient sailor with a beard, in others he reminded Balon of those ancient carvings on the Seastone Chair; designs that even he had found terrifying as a boy, put aside as a man and now was sent back to as he stared into the face of the Devil of the Seas.

"Answer the captain!" barked the Shark-man.

"Patience, Maccus" ordered the captain, "I think the man is just a wee bit scared. As well he might." His crew laughed and the demon smirked. "Do you know who I am, boy?"

"The Drowned God?" Balon whispered. He felt the wet patch between his legs growing with every moment he stared at the man-kraken. The demon smiled.

"A god?" the demon spat, "No! There are no Gods in the world nowadays. Only men, monsters and the promise of a harsh judgement when you finally die." His smile turned rictus. "But I can offer you...freedom."

Chapter Text

Part 5: Underworld

"Feast your eyes on this. How does that make your purse rumble?"

The Scion glowed bright, denying my desperate urge to sleep. Usually the rocking of a boat would aid me in catching a rest, now it sent me drifting from one half-dream or half-recollection to another.

"You've reached the top, Larra. There's nowhere left to go but down."

There was a woman's voice, of that I was certain. Always the same person, though buried under different accents and tones. An old voice, a cruel voice and one that was darkly familiar - it was one of those people that you could recognise instantly but not know where from.

"Evolution's in a rut, natural selection at an all time low. But shipping out fresh meat will incite territorial rages again, will strengthen...advance us."

I'd never been a heavy sleeper, even as a child back in Winterfell. Tiredness and the need to rest had never descended on me as it had on my brothers; I had always believed that I could run forever, jump forever, be forever...

"Look inside yourself Larra, your heart is as black as mine!"

But ever since Valyria I had needed it. The urge to sleep crept up on me relentlessly, sapping at my will and my mind. I needed to rest, to hide away from the world and its problems, to relax. It was certainly the stress of the last few weeks that was the core of my problems, but buried under that was a fear that had been nagging at me ever since Robert had been flung into that wall. Was I too old for this?

"Everything that has a beginning, has an end."

Was Robert right? Should I have done the same as him and performed my duty to my father and acted the part of a 'proper' lady? Should I have dedicated my to womanly pursuits, put aside barrow raiding and exploring and discovering to live the same life thousands of others had done before me? Should I sacrifice who I am?

"I only play for sport."

Or should I continue my adventures without Robert and go back to exploring on my own. To once more brace against the weird and the wild with only myself for protection, and in turn to protect. The idea wasn't as appetising as it once was - which was ridiculous! I didn't need company, I needed an axe in my hand and a bow on my back. I needed a torch to grasp and a rope to climb. I needed the rush of fear and the joy of success. The dark of a tomb, the creak of a rotten bridge, the howl of the wind!

But do I need Robert there beside me?

...no. No...It's my life. It's not someone else's.

The journey from Valyria had been relentless, both physically and mentally for Robert and I. The thought of his innocent brothers captured by a madwoman had taken a toll on Robert's already fiery temper, while I struggled to accept that there kidnapping was not my fault; even though I had never met Stannis or Renly. It was still better than being back on that cursed peninsula however. Even if the water around our little longship couldn't be drunk, it could still be used to wash our clothes and ourselves, quelling the feeling of being constantly dirty that I had felt ever since that tomb. The fear of constant attack had lessened, as had the oppressive heat (though it was still pretty nasty considering how far south we were). I could also see clearer now, could spot the scattered threads that had led me to this moment.

And I can see my own foolishness.

It had been on a day like this that I had first met Lady Jocelyn Natla, with a heavy sun and a cloudless sky. It was over a year before I had finally met Robert at my brother Ned's invitation, though not so early that I hadn't encountered Salladhor or Davos. In fact it had been the latter who I had been traveling with, heading towards Volantis to follow up on a hint when we had needed to stop in Saltpans...

"I've heard much about you Larra, many fascinating things...by raven."

"I'm flattered."

"It was that very raven that inspired me to ask for your help with a...small problem I have found myself with."

I should have been far more cautious from the start. Natla's infrequent suggestions and hints had been useful to me true, but were far from beneficial in the long run. She'd been more than careful in how she had approached me, offering tales of treasure for myself with maps and documents as support; only asking for the occasional artifact in return. Starting small of course; a vase here, an ornamental flower carving - but then a strange arrangement of gears, an odd bronze staff, a jagged crystal from an abandoned mine. All of them bore similar markings, the same designs that resided on the dissembled Scion in my hands. The glow had vanished from it now in its collapsed form, but it was still built unlike almost anything I'd seen including Natla's other artefacts - the exception being the Horn of Winter which seemed to use some of the same material.

Which doesn't mean I understand how either of them work.

But I had not questioned her then, happy instead to have met someone with similar interests to me. We had never been friends, I rarely had true friends aside from my brothers and later Robert, Davos and Salladhor. But friendship was not necessary for her, only the trust I gave her that could be used for her own purposes. I believed now that Robert was right about the enchantment on the tombs to keep her bloodline, especially after the power she had demonstrated in creating half-sentient wights.

The only question left is why she didn't want all three (perhaps even just two?) parts of the Scion in my possession...paranoia perhaps?

Robert grumbled at the far end of our boat, stretching his arms out to relive the cramp gained from steering. He'd insisted on taking up some of the responsibility on ship himself despite having never worked on one previously, so I'd let him have a go - even if I had seized the wheel when the weather got fierce. That had been three days ago and judging by the stars we were two days north of Zamettar, the first step on our quest to rescue Robert's brothers. I'd never been to Sothoryos before - though I had always planned on going eventually - but from a few conversations with a brindled man in Salladhor's employ I had gathered enough to hopefully secure us safe food and water. Though even if I hadn't, we could hardly turn back now.

"You okay?" I asked, breaking the silence that had settled aboard ship.

"You've asked that question at least thrice a day ever since we left Valyria" Robert replied, with a slightly forced smile. "And as I said, I feel fine. My side is even feeling better - look I can even do this again!" He tried to balance on one leg, only to fall on his face when the ship rocked particularly hard.

"Totally fine, I see" I said, between my laughs. He tried to pout but only managed to it for a few moments before he too was laughing. "Clearly...you don't...have your sea legs...yet!"

"Ah, I've got better" he said, "I'll be a captain in the royal fleet soon enough." He chuckled. "Maybe one day I can even pass as a Redwyne." I groaned.

"Don't remind me" I muttered, "My father's got betrothal offers from them before and they were absolute ass-twats in how they wrote them. 'Greetings to you noble Lord Stark' - I mean, who writes shit like that?"

"Your father's not much better himself, 'To my son Eddard, I hope you are keeping yourself well'" said Robert, "Even Stannis shows more emotion in a letter - even if most of it is disapproving." He waggled his eyebrows.

"Disapproving?" I asked, "What about you could he possibly disapprove of?" He shook his head.

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you Larra" he replied. I pouted.

"At least I can be sarcastic" I snarked, "When you tried you ended up convincing someone that we were actually there to assassinate the Old Blood."

"I had a headache" he muttered.

"Sure you did..." I said, "and I'm sure the guards would have believed that if they'd heard everything..." He pouted again. I was referring to an incident in Volantis towards the end of the previous year, when the two of us had been hunting down a greatsword that could light itself on fire (possibly the Lightbringer of legend, though I had my doubts considering I'd already unearthed two other candidates). The unfortunate event had started when a guard overheard part of our conversation, a situation that quickly escalated and forced us to flee the city with the sword pursued by an armada of Red Priests.

An interesting adventure to say the least.

I hadn't traveled back to Volantis since, which was a pity since the city was filled with fascinating examples of architecture, ancient history and thousands of secret locations and artefacts to discover. Still...

"How long due you reckon we've got left to travel" I asked, "Judging by the stars I'm guessing 3 days, maybe 4 if the wind is weak."

"Probably" Robert shrugged, "I've only been learning astrograpy-"

"Astronomy."

"-that, for a month. I'm hardly any good at it. Yet." He grinned. "Give me time, I'm sure we'll make a seamen out of me yet." I smiled back.

This. These are the moments that life resolves around.

The sun crept ever closer to the horizon as we talked and as it moved so did we to our final destination: the coast of Sothoryos and the ruined cities of Zamettar and Yeen. Apparently the original home of the Scion and hopefully the location where Stannis and Renly's were held captive. I imagined that the shadow of the boat was a spearpoint headed straight for Jocelyn Natla's heart.

Zamettar was the opposite of Valyria in every conceivable way. One sat in the middle of a volcano, the other on the banks of a great delta. While the former home of the Dragonlords had been stripped clean of all life by the Doom, Zamettar had been overgrown by the jungle surrounding it. Houses, barracks and temples alike had been consumed by the wild; covered in vines, crushed under massive roots, torn apart to make way for more trees - it was a sea of green and brown, an entrance way to a different kind of hell altogether. Parts of the old city wall remained standing, but clearly it would only be a short time until they too were lost. This was a land not designed for men, a kingdom that had met my kind and spat upon them. This was the wild, the strange, the lost...

The dark.

I had been in jungles before on a trip to the Basilisk Isles with Salladhor two years prior, but never one like this. The light of the sun would become dimmer the further we journeyed, I knew due to the trees jostling for position above us in the canopy. Sound too would die off frequently as we traveled, whenever the animals of jungle reacted to a predator hunting nearby. It would be simple to get lost, indeed it would be more difficult to stay traveling in the right direction as there were no paths through the sea of trees. Not to mention the unfamiliar animals, cannibal tribes, the 'Lizardmen' and 'ratmen' rumoured to exist in the far south...Robert and I would be sticking to the river Zamoyos to get us inland in the hopes of avoiding the worst of it.

Still, it was evening now and with the river crowded by mangroves any travel would have to wait until morning. As such, I resolved to explore the Old Ghiscari City in the hopes of discovering something new about the ancient civilisation. The city had been sacked and burnt by the Valyrians during the Fourth Spice War, but enough of it remained that I could probably learn something; maybe even find a few scraps of jewellery or pottery to examine. Robert stayed by the campfire, filled with easily scavenged wood from the heavy undergrowth as I strolled through the ruins and trees.

In places I could catch a glimpse of how the settlement would once have looked before the jungle had taken over, but they were sadly few and far between to my disappointment. Even worse, the only objects of note were a few jug and amphora shards lying smashed against a temple wall, some dented coins found in a rotted purse and a gold figurine that might once have been part of a game. The city had obviously been long since raided by pirates and the Rhoynah had presumably left nothing behind when they had fled.

There was one great discovery however, an area of Zamettar the jungle hadn't yet managed to enter. It was a wide and square central plaza, tiled with grey and white stone and stretching for about two miles in diameter. I could imagine this had once been the grand market place of the city, a place for Ghiscari traders to gather to sell goods: food, clothes, rugs, ornaments - "Slaves" I muttered as I spotted a raised platform and stockade in the northeastern corner. From three sides of the square a great road stretched out into the rest of the city, a thoroughfare that would doubtless have once been filled with carts, horses and throngs of people. At the southern edge of the square lay a great temple however, pyramidal in design but long since collapsed.

Unbidden, I recalled a phrase from my poor mother, Lady Lyarra Stark that she spoken to me as a child. "Everything ends sweetling. All the kingdoms of the world will be one day consumed by the onslaught of time."

"Then what's the point of anything?" I had asked.

"The point is what can you do in the moment. Who can you befriend, who can you bring joy too? Live for the small moments Larra, they are what life is truly about - not great deeds or grand actions - the small things, smiles."

But I want to be remembered. Not as a ancient ancestor - as an explorer, a discoverer, an icon!

"Have I failed you mother?" I muttered out loud, "Abandoning Winterfell to explore the world? I haven't seen Bran, Ned or Ben in months..." How many times had I focused on the small things? I always saw the bigger picture, the possibility of gaining a greater understanding of the past rather than focusing on the future. But what was wrong with that? It's my life. I shouldn't be defined by any husband or child, I should be my own person. Independent, my own - not someone else's. I am who I am and it's my choice that matters!

Even so...

I had been wrong to fault Robert for his choice. His decision to return home and take up his duties was a mature one, of that I could allow no doubt. Wouldn't I have done the same for my brothers if they had needed it? I was wrong, utterly wrong. I should have supported him, no matter how much I needed-

"Haven't I asked for his help in the past?" I rhetorically asked the ruins, "How could I deny him mine?"

With my mind made up, I began to walk back to the campsite through the trees and the ruins. I never noticed the winged creature watching me from high in the canopy above.

The following morning would confirm my fears; It would not be an easy sail upstream towards Yeen. In areas the river was horribly narrow, forcing us to row more often than not. In others it was populated by strange denizens: carnivorous fish, giant lizard-lions, blood red eels - all manner of monstrosities and abominations that made Ice Spiders and Wights look tame. And that was only the river, the land was worse. Far worse. Most of the time we had not spotted whatever the threat was, only the shadows of beasts - but shadows were enough. Giant cats, giant ants, giant snakes, giant birds, giant lizards - Robert swore that he had spotted the shadow of a giant man hunched over in a clearing, the size of two of the elephants the Golden Company was so proud off. And one time I had sworn that I heard the sound of that most feared of all Sothoryosi beasts, the Wyvern - a distant cousin to the Valyrian Dragons of old. Thankfully it did not take notice of either of us, otherwise it is likely we would both be dead. Four times we had to fight attacks by a hungry beast, either attacking us on the boat or on dry land when we had been forced to disembark for a short while.

I understood why the corsairs and pirates feared this place now, why even scarred veterans had turned white at the prospect of a trip to Sothoryos. And this wasn't even the worst part of the dark continent, some journals spoke of a region south of Yeen known as 'The Green Hell'; a region where nature had turned on itself in fury and created demons that would make even the mages of 'the Tenth Free City' wet themselves in terror. Robert and I didn't talk, despite my urge to plead forgiveness for my anger. I wondered whether we'd ever talk again. We barely moved if we didn't have too, we drank little and ate less. Our bodies grew brittle and empty, our souls grew black and cold but we kept our silence from fear. Not the fear of being watched like back in Valyria, we both knew we were certainly being watched. It was the fear of certainty, the knowledge that even if we rescued Stannis and Renly - we would never leave this continent.

And then the Jungle ended and I rediscovered what fear was.

'A ruin half as old as time...'

'A city so evil that even the jungle will not enter...'

'There are some places even you would fear to go, girl...'

On that trip to the Basilisk Isles that seemed a thousand years ago now, I had made sure to visit the Isle of Toads so I could examine the local curiosity. The inhabitants of the island called it the 'Toad Stone' and I could see why, it certainly had the appearance of a massive and hideous toad; affixed with a cruel scowl. On its own that would have been a mild curiosity and nothing more, but for whatever reason the statue had been constructed from an black stone impenetrable to the tools of man. The stone had been oily to the touch, unbelievably smooth and undamaged despite a millennia of weathering. And in an exact circle around it nothing grew. The grass ended, the ferns retreated - they would not cross this invisible line. And when I stared up at the Toad I felt the same urge, the same need to flee as far away as possible and hide where those dark eyes could not see.

Yeen was exactly the same. The jungle had refused to enter its domain and kept a clean border ten metres out from all sides of the ancient city. Identically to the toad, the city had been untouched by age or wear and stood as it must have done when Nymeria first laid eyes on it a thousand years prior. Perhaps it even stood identical to when it had first been finished, a city so dark that light couldn't even cross the threshold. As we approached, the air revealed itself to be as oily as the walls would be, a foul heavy taste which forced me to a stop, gasping for fresh air. If anything heard me it didn't reveal itself, the city was as silent as the-

Why did the Rhoynah choose to settle here? Why would anyone settle here?

It was the imprint of darkness, a shadow come to life rather than any place Man had lived or worked in. That was clear, obvious from its shape and design - one monolithic door and a staircase leading downwards. No other entrances existed on the city despite its massive size - certainly larger than White Harbour at least in estimate. And all composed of that black oily stone, the same as the Toad Stone and the Seastone Chair and the base of the Hightower; anything else had rotted long ago but the stone remained. And it was wrong. Valyria had smouldered, Zamettar had thrived but Yeen was silent and somehow worse than either.

"And I fear you will see great wonders..." I muttered, recalling a quote from some half forgotten philosopher.

"Holy fuck!" said Robert.

"...my thoughts exactly" I deadpanned, shaking my head. But still I turned back to him and tried to smile. "Well, this is where we were told to go. Your brothers should be inside." His eyes hardened.

"Yeah." For a moments we stood there on the edge of darkness, memorising each other's features just in case...

I looked forward. "Let's go."

After three feet into the city, I was forced to light up a torch to see the path forward. The corridor stretched on for a dozen more yards, before splitting off into three more tunnels dividing away from each other with rapid speed. Conscious of the need to find our way out again, Robert and I took the central path. The floor was slick under our feet preventing our boots from gaining any grip or security. Twice I almost slipped as we marched down a staircase - always down, never up - and by the third staircase Robert just resolved to sliding down them at a snail's pace. But we kept moving onwards, hunting through long-abandoned storerooms, barracks, temples, shops, solars, feast halls, parade grounds, gardens and homes for Stannis and Renly. A few times I had heard a sound that might have been one of them calling out, only to realise a few seconds later that it was my imagination.

Or at least that was what I assumed.

As we had traveled through the underground city, I began to notice that there were occasional objects not made of the same oily black stone that was everywhere else. Statues. Hundreds of statues of men, animals and gross hybrids of the two standing malevolently in many rooms, keeping a silent watch over the black city. I had requested a stop briefly to examine a few of them as we moved onwards; a man with the head of a lion, a skinny woman with the wings of a bat, a massive man's torso attached to a horse where it's neck should have been and then made even fouler by the addition of a mutated horse skull as a head on top.

"What are you?" I questioned, "Why would someone make something like you?"

"A warrior?" Robert suggested, "It does have a sword and shield."

"Maybe..." I said, "But if so, if they had the ability to make monsters like this - why were they wiped out?" He shrugged.

"Maybe it's just a statue then."

It was not soon after that the 'Statue' began following us. Robert and I kept moving, well aware of this fact and how difficult it would be to harm a creature made of stone. As long as we showed no awareness of its presence the horse-man seemed content to just follow us, breathing out air in a long rattling combination of a growl and a purr. Of course I while outwardly showing no signs of awareness (aside from a tiny head-shake at Robert) was searching for a solution. Running was counted out as a possibility, after all horses were faster than humans. Ducking into a low ceilinged room was also dismissed, if the 'Statue' could walk then presumably it could bend down. If only there was some way to climb out of reach, or failing that find another way to block off its path to us...

There! Ahead of us was a large stone entranceway designed to be sealed off from above by a massive slab. If I was right in thinking that Yeen was still in the same condition as when it had been built and if the mechanism to the doorway's right was covered by that- I let Robert walk slightly in front of me and prepared to draw my Valyrian axe. I would only have a few seconds; a second's delay could result in the horse-man following us or worse, us being trapped on the wrong side of the door with it. All three of us padded onwards and then as Robert crossed the threshold - I span to the right and slammed my axe into the mechanism, forcing it to move with all my weight. The 'Statue' reared up and prepared to charge, letting out an unearthly roar - for a second I caught a glimpse of red muscle, grey bone and red glowing eyes - and then I had flung myself backward through the opening and the slab smashed downwards separating us from the abomination.

For a few seconds it pounded on the door but to no avail; clearly the magic in these walls was stronger than its own.

"Larra..."

I ignored Robert, pressing an ear to the door to listen. With a final livid roar the horse-man gave up its futile assault and raced off, either to return to its former position or to look for another way around.

"Larra..."

Hopefully it didn't know the city well or had no passageway around to us, we would have to keep a close eye out for it and more of its kind-

There was the unmistakable sound of a growl from behind me. On this side of the door and the slab. With the hesitance of a frightened mouse, I slowly turned around and nearly fell to the floor in fear. It was gigantic, bigger than any creature I'd ever seen before, minus the kraken. But that had been at sea - this was on land with no easy escape...Two massive scaled and clawed legs rose up into a long hunched torso. Two tiny clawed arms extended from its front. A huge tail whipped around behind it. A massive head filled with sharp teeth stared at Robert and I with two cold red eyes, undoubtedly those of a born killer. It was a bipedal lizard, a beast to make even dragons tremble, a- it roared and the force nearly flung us back into the doorway.

"Run!" I screamed. Robert didn't argue. The lizard charged and the world shook with its footsteps. In fleeting moments between running and dodging I was able to get the measure of the room we were in. It was an amphitheater, massive in scope with rows of raised seating constructed high above the arena floor. The only exit was the door we had just closed, aside from that now closed escape route the only option was climbing the sides of the pit and exiting from the seating. That however would have taken too long as the lizard would be able to swipe us down at its leisure. Maybe I could have used my grappling hook to ensure my own survival, but Robert would be doomed as he'd never been a fast climber. There was nothing else for it, we would have to fight this beast and win before we could even think of running.

Isn't this always the way when an encounter like this happens?

As always the key thing was to be calm and precise. This was - whatever it's size - a wild animal. It wouldn't be able to outthink me, would easily be distracted or tricked and if hurt sufficiently it might even be possible to drive it off. The main issue was it's size as just one hit would spell doom for a human and from there it's speed due to a far greater stride. It was also likely however that its skin would be too tough for me to cut through except with the Valyrian axe (which would require getting close), so I would have to target other areas. And so as the creature lumbered after Robert, I withdrew my bow - aimed - and fired straight into the lizard's eye. It was a perfect hit, striking dead centre and triggering a roar of agony from the wounded beast. Even better, the lizard didn't seem to know where the pain had come from. It shook its head from side to side in a rage, trying to shake off whatever strange phantom had blinded it; and then I saw Robert charging between its legs.

"Robert wait!" I screamed, as he smashed his warhammer into the beast's calf; pulverising scales and muscles and bone alike. And the creature refocused on him, lifting up its foot to stomp him flat upon the stone floor. He was forced to roll to the side in a desperate move, only to meet the creature's tail as is swept round and sent him flying into the seats high above.

No!

The lizard focused on me.

"NO!" I screeched and began to charge. The beast did the same, roaring what I imagined was a announcement of its victory. "NO!" I withdrew three arrows from my quiver and aimed. The creature opened its mouth. "NO!" And as it leaned down to bite me I fired down its throat. Three arrows, three freshly sharpened arrows. There was no way they couldn't have caused massive damage, perhaps even fatal... The monster certainly agreed. It choked out a roar of pain and fury, thrashing it's head around wildly as it's arms spasmed; but it will still charging at full speed and with a massive crash it collided with the arena wall. The oily stone was fine. The lizard was not and slumped to the ground.

And I rose again from where I had slid under it, arrows ready. It did not. "No" I spat, "Not today." And then my mind flew to Robert. It took far, far too long to climb out of the pit, even with my grappling hook. And when I did make it to the top...Robert lay where he had fallen, slumped over on one side. Blood was splattered all around him...

NO!

I must have cried as I rushed over to him, leaving hook behind in a blind panic because he couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead, he couldn't be dead-

"Robert?" I whispered. One eye flickered open.

"...Larra...?" he wheezed. I could see part of arm lying a few feet away from us.

"I'm here" I sobbed, "You'll be fine, listen to me - I'll get you home, I-"

"Larra-"

"I'll need to get some bandages-"

"Larra-"

"-oh no, oh no-"

"Larra!" he shouted, then continued in a soft voice; "It's okay." I looked up at his face.

"But it's not okay, Robert - you're dying-"

"It is..." He coughed, "Listen to me. You need to save yourself."


"I'm not leaving you!" I said, "Not here-"

"You must." Was it my imagination, or were his eyes fading? "Larra, my brothers - someone still needs to save them. You need to save them, alone."

"But I can't..." I sobbed.

"You must."

"But you don't deserve this! To die in such a place! You don't deserve any of this, it's my fault-"

"None of this is your fault, Larra. It's her fault, Natla or Natlira or whatever - her's and her's alone. You need to live, live for me. Give me that victory...please." He reached for my hand. I clasped it, of course.

"I..."

"Larra..."

"I promise."

I rose from the ground, still crying. My hand was streaked with blood, his blood...

I have to...I have to be...

I turned around and began to stumble my way towards an exit. The tomb was dark and cold around. The only sound was my own footsteps and sniffles. The world had ended, why would there be anything else?

"I love you."

I turned around once more.

"And I you" I replied.

And I fled from the room.

Chapter Text

The actors move. The roles remain the same, even if the stage has...changed...

Part 6: Story

The courtyard of Riverrun lay smeared with blood. The bodies of its inhabitants, servants and soldiers alike lay in misshapen piles waiting to be cleared. The castle’s conquerors had buried their own dead first of course, before feasting in glee at their great achievement. Heads sat on spikes above the gatehouse, while on a bonfire outside the walls various banners sat ready for burning. Above it all flew the grey direwolf, satisfied finally with the removal of the traitorous plowman who had so cruelly betrayed their aquatic brethren.

Deep within the stone halls filled with feasting warriors and laughing knights, sat an old man deprived of his hair by the actions of his only daughter. Rickard Stark brooded alone, his only company a bundle of letters and a goblet of wine; an object that had been used earlier in the evening to toast the memory of Hoster, Edmure and Brynden Tully. The grey man sat leafing through the letters, all recovered from Riverrun’s Maester. Many of them were from fellow supporters of the mad prince. Some letters demanded assistance (mostly from the Reach, suffering from a joint Dornish and Westerland invasion), some offered their own help for the now-defeated Darrys, some asked for news on the occurrences in the Iron Islands. Some were even in his own hand – letters sent from moons ago demanding Lord Raymun’s surrender.

Buried within the pile of letters were also a few from King’s Landing, written in the hand of Rhaegar the Fallen himself; he who had so treacherously murdered his father before roasting his own children alive in a mad plot to awaken dragons. They spoke of prophecies and madness, of demands for Dragon Eggs and other relics of Valyria. Out of the corner of his eye, Rickard observed Frostwing; a small Ice Dragon his daughter had somehow retrieved and adopted to the terror of all other lords of the realm, particularly the Targaryens. Well, terror for some, delight for others who saw opportunity in the event and proceeded to offer their sons - and sometimes themselves - as 'worthy husbands' for the mother of dragons.

If it had been up to him, Rickard might have considered a number of them - any of the Lord Paramounts would have been an excellent choice (Tywin in particular, to build on the friendly relationship born from Larra's return of Brightroar). He had been forced to decline all of them however, since Larra would have not only refused the match but also fled Westeros entirely to escape it.

Rickard sighed. He hadn't seen his daughter in months even with his refusal to forcibly marry her. The last he had heard, she had been planning a expedition to Old Valyria with the eldest Baratheon boy; possibly the last survivor of his own house after the disappearance of Stannis and Renly Baratheon. If it had been anyone else, he would have dismissed the expedition as a fool's errand - but Larra would survive. Both of them would survive.

Wouldn't they?

----------------

"Isn't that what it's all about? Why we dig up the past? To understand it."

This is what Larra Stark thinks.

So much has been lost over the millennia of human existence. From the small facts of daily life to the great wonders of ancient civilisation, all has been swallowed up by the ages, taken by the passage of time. Too much has been lost.

One day she too will be lost to history; as will her house, her home, her family and friends; all will be lost to the wrath of time.

It's a frightening truth to realise. She'd always imagined making a name for herself that would echo down the eons - Larra Stark, the Second Sea Snake; Larra Stark, the Great Wanderer; Larra Stark, the Barrow Raider-a Hero for another generation of Stark youths, a woman for the daughters of her brothers to admire as 'Awesome Aunt Larra' while their brothers seethed at being shown up by girls. In time perhaps they could have begun their own journeys of discovery, their own quests for enlightenment in Larra's shadow - never having to be 'perfect ladies' or run the household while their husbands were allowed to live.

"I only hunt for sport."

She'd wanted to live so much, enthralled as a young girl by the tales of her mother - the wild Lyarra Stark who had passed away before she could live as more than the Lady of Winterfell. She'd resented her father for that, for stealing away her mother's chance of living her own life as more than an accessory to his own; though she understood now that it wasn't him but Westeros itself that was determined to ruin the dreams of young girls. Determined to ruin them while all the time allowing their brothers to fight and travel, determined to bend their wills into nothing but poor imitations of the Seven deities. She hated it, loathed it with a passion she had hidden since birth because she knew it wasn’t right to live this way.

Somehow, she has always known that, deep within the darker corners of her mind ever since her birth...

"I don't think I'm that kind of Cr-"

One day, she thought. One day she’d be proven right and her dreams proven true.

But before that came revenge.

----------------

The City of Yeen, Sothoryos

And I you...

From all around came the sound of ancient mechanisms; metal, stone, flesh-or at least something that squelched and squealed from pain. Yeen had come alive following Robert’s death, the dark city delighting in the blood split in its shadowy halls. Scarlet light shone down from cracks in the vaulted ceiling, flickering with every clunk of the mechanisms. The walls themselves rumbled and moved, components rising and falling with apparent randomness to my left and right; leaving only a long corridor ahead of me untouched.

I growled and continued my charge.

The thought of his corpse lying forever in this haunted city was wildfire in my veins. Robert, broken so far from our homes and family, defeated not in battle or duel but by an animal...I didn't cry. I was not one for crying, my mother had said I'd been devoid of tears ever since the birthing bed. But I did rage. Raged with the fire of a thousand hells at the cruelty done to us by this...woman. Revenge; that was what mattered now. An easy death would be too kind for Lady Natla after this.

Death is the only just punishment.

An axe occupied each of my hands, normal and Valyrian steel both humming with anticipation. They were clean and prepared for battle, though my clothes and bow were already stained with blood taken from the great lizard-beast. If this had been a normal day, I would have found discomfort in that fact but now...now I rejoiced. Soon another's blood would join it.

Just a little further.

A flicker in the light from the ceiling warned me to leap out of the way as another beast lunged down from the ceiling. Like the reptile and the man-horse it had foul red eyes, but unlike them it bore the shape of a man; mutated and mutilated, but of human origin nonetheless. The body was tall and hunched, covered by a thick leathery skin over a set of powerful muscles while the face...the face had been stretched to allow the addition of a monstrous set of canines, more akin to those on a lion than a man. This gave the malformed creature a cruel smirk; a feature only strengthened by it's short, stubby nose.

The beast glared at me and roared in a manner not entirely dissimilar to that of its brethren; a cry of challenge designed to terrify any opponent. I used a similar strategy, standing tall with my arms wide in a technique I had used before to drive off animals looking for an easy kill. The creature hesitated in obvious fear, but eventually it's hunger or fury won out and triggered it into a howling charge. Claws sliced across the stone as it sprinted on all fours, fanged mouth opened even wider to reveal a drooling black abyss.

It didn't make it far. As it charged I did likewise, while simultaneously readying my axe. I counted down internally, guessing the distance between us - and then just before we met, throwing my axe deep into its forehead and rolling to the side. The creature screeched in pain; it had been far too close by to dodge and so now sported a weapon deeply embedded within its skull; the Valyrian steel easily doing its job. Before it could move past this fact - if it even could, considering the creature seemed fairly defeated with that one stroke - I had already swung my other axe into the back of its neck, smashing the beast to the ground. A second blow shattered its spine, leaving the head only barely attached to the body.

An easy kill. Pitiful really, I expected...

I retrieved my first axe, yanking it out of the creature's skull with a sharp movement that threatened to break it (the skull) in half. Both blades were now caked with blood, but of a variety different from that of Robert’s – course, heavy and foul in taste if the liquid flung into my mouth was any indication. The creature’s eyes stared up at me, red slits glaring with undead hatred. I shivered and moved on. Perhaps I was more cautious now, keeping half an eye on the ceiling and regularly checking behind me for a possible attack. I wouldn’t be surprised again.

The corridor was fully illuminated now, scarlet light reflecting down onto oily black stone - creating an illusion that I was wading through blood. The noises had faded somewhat however, squeals and clangs fading away to be replaced by distant rumbles reverberating through the stone. Out of nowhere the way behind me had been cut off, a wall of rock sliding across the corridor as if it had always been there. Faced with no other choice, I continued moving forward – only to step back half an inch when something on the wall attracted my attention. It was a carving, identical to the one I had seen in Valyria. Three people around a triangle, armed with bow and spear and trident. All of them possessed angry features, hard and sharp lines befitting of royalty. Only in this picture the woman’s face remained untouched, allowing me to finally look upon her vis-

"It takes three to rule Atlantis."

I whipped around in shock, axes already raised to rain death on any attacker. But none materialised themselves from the corridor, with only the sound of a sudden wind suggesting that anything could have been there. Suspiciously, I turned back to the carving. It was still there. The face of Lady Jocelyn Natla – or Natlira perhaps, if my suspicions were true – preserved in oily black stone. And that was impossible, the carvings had to be older than the Valyrian Freehold and yet Lady Natla could have only been five and thirty at the most.

Maybe her family all looks similar?

It was difficult to comprehend the idea of someone that ancient, someone older than several of the Gods. How could a mortal live that long, surely even the Children of the Forest would have faded over such a lengthy period. But she had called herself the Goddess of Yeen, had she not? Was that not a false title then, was there some truth behind her claims of divinity? The carving didn’t reply, glaring out with pride and anger at some unknown event. What could this woman have done for her kin to deny her existence as they had in Valyria? A disagreement? A betrayal? A failure of some kind?

Perhaps the Scion…Lomas had wanted it hidden for some reason…

My two parts of the device were carefully hidden in my knapsack, wrapped inside an old blanket I’d taken from home. A paranoid part of me had considered breaking the artefact out of spite, though I’d relented when the thought of Robert’s brothers had come to me. Still...I had sworn privately to myself that she would never gain the full artefact. If I had to break it to achieve that, then so be it. Clearly it was crucial to whatever plans she had, destroying it would anger her at the very least. I knew the value of a ruined plan well, after all.

Leaving the carving behind, I continued along the corridor. Strangely enough, I gained the impression that I was heading downwards – even though the corridor itself remained perfectly straight. It was an unnerving sensation, to the say the least. More carvings had appeared in the stonework, lit by scarlet lights that were themselves arranged in patterns with no inherent purpose. The carvings themselves were more comprehensible, though even then the events were...odd at best. Some of them were of battles, such as one depicting a conflict before a gigantic ziggurat while a hurricane raged above. Many were of objects, from swords and hammers to a pyramidal artefact embellished with the carving of an eye. And a scarce few were of monsters: a wingless dragon impaled through the belly; a legless giant covered in blood; a fusion of man and spider; a jacket headed knight in golden armour...

Were these their gods? Or demons?

If only there had been time to look over this place in greater detail. So much could have been learned about the history of Yeen, of the culture of whoever had once lived here. I could have searched for an explanation of the Scion or the black stone. Looked for clues about their rulers; Natlira, Tihocan and Qualopec - what they were like, how they ruled, whether they had predecessors or successors in their position as rulers. Perhaps I could have even discovered the truth behind the destruction of Yamatai and the event that cast it into the ocean.

Too much has been lost...

But I would have to return later. The doorway to Natla beckoned, and my revenge.

----------------

The Sanctuary of the Scion

"So you have finally arrived..."

The voice echoed in the cavernous chamber. It was a mighty structure, the vaulted ceiling resting high above with the support of four massive columns. The scarlet lights were everywhere here; entwining around the pillars, lining the walls - even blazing endlessly within the floor. I didn't respond to the woman's voice, only tightening my grip on the axes once again.

Where are you?

Even as I edged further into the room, the woman (and for that matter Stannis and Renly) remained hidden. Instinct told me they were close however, that is if the latter were still alive at all. I could have been lured here with falsehoods, perhaps the children had been slaughtered already for the 'Goddess's' pleasure. That was unlikely though...they had to be still alive, Natla would want her bargaining chips unharmed in case I tried to back out of the deal. Though that fact still didn't reveal where they had been hidden. Or where Natla herself was.

Maybe one of these walls is fake...

The sound of wings rushed down from the high ceiling. I looked up, straight up - and yelped in shock. She was flying! Dark draconic wings sprouted from the blond women's back, flapping with the force of a thundercloud as she swooped down from the ceiling. She landed a few steps away, cold eyes glinting.

"Welcome Larra" she smiled, "I trust you have brought my Scion." Her manner was polite, but with a subtle edge of mocking behind it. My heart growled in my chest.

Calm. I must be patient.

"I have" I responded, "Where are the boys?" The woman flicked her wrist and a section of wall folded away, revealing two bound and gagged children. Both were the spitting image of Robert, black hair and blue eyes marking them as descendants of Orys Baratheon. If I had been closer I imagined that I would have seen tear tracks trailing down the boys' cheeks, but even from here I could see that the older boy had forced his way in front of the younger one.

"I will not tarry" Natla said, "Hand over my Scion and the children will remain unharmed."

"And they'll be released to me?" I questioned. I couldn't allow myself to be deceived, not in the this city of horrors. More to the point, by delaying the actual trade I could potentially find a way to prevent it entirely. For that I needed Stannis and Renly safe, and for that I needed to find out how she had moved the wall at this great distance.

Perhaps her bracelet? It's certainly an unwieldy thing...

"Of course" she smiled, "I do not desire harm on them, either of them - they are children after all."

"That didn't stop you from killing Robert!" I snapped; the response bursting out of me without warning, without care or control.

"I did not kill your friend" she responded with a laugh, "Truthfully I regret his death - it was not necessary for this meeting." She laughed. "Though I suppose his death is insignificant in the end..."

"Insignificant?" I growled. Who was this woman to dismiss his death so easily? What gave her that right?

"He was mortal, Lara" Natla intoned, "All of them die sooner or later, at the very least this one can say he died well." Her smile vanished. "Enough delaying - return my Scion."

"Your Scion?" I said, ignoring the actual intent of the phrase.

Natla didn't respond, only raising an arm in the direction of the two boys - the threat was clear.

I didn't test her patience.

Reluctantly I drew the golden artefact out of my bag, twin parts unconnected for now. Natla held out a hand, the other still poised to endanger Robert's brothers. I moved forward, only to be stopped dead by her next words: "Connect them."

"What?" I asked. Surely she wanted the power of the artefact just for herself.

"Connect them, Larra" Natla repeated, "I want you to witness what happens next."

"Why?" I asked, "Why does it matter to you what I see in this. It's 'your' artefact after all."

"It is" Natla responded, "My past, present and future - the sum of time's power, rebuilt in a familiar form." From the folds of her dress she pulled another golden artefact - a third of a circle, built out of a multitude of gears and other strange mechanical shapes. Runes were carved into every available surface, along with strange lines and pictures.

The last part of the Scion.

“My past…and yours Larra” Natla hummed, “All of Yamatai’s secrets, all of Atlantis’ secrets – the history of worlds is contained within this – can’t you feel it?” With a sudden hiss of her tongue, the woman flashed forward and grabbed my hands in hers, forcing the Scion into one. Her grip was like iron, her nails like miniature daggers scratching into my flesh. With two parts of it together, the Scion glowed a soft amber and began to awaken – gears moving, gems glowing – the entire thing hummed with eldritch power. My hands grew hot, though the metal itself was still cool to the touch.

“What are you talking about?” I yelled. I attempted to drop the artefact, but the strength of Natla’s hands was behind me – I couldn’t struggle, couldn’t resist as she inserted the final piece of the Scion.

“Our connection Lara!” Natla cackled, “Surely you can see it – the truth of our exiling on this barren world! Feel it! Embrace it! Break your chains!”

She’s mad! Utterly insane - get off me!

“I don’t know what you’re talking abou-“

The Scion glowed.

----------------

I landed in a pile of hay. After a second, two bound and gagged boys joined me – both looking confused and not a little frightened. We had arrived in a castle courtyard constructed of white stone. The inhabitants of said castle had been obviously surprised at my arrival, as many of them were backing away. Others were retrieving swords and spears, preparing for a fight. High above me a Direwolf flew in the blue sky.

I groaned. To say that everything hurt…was an understatement.

Owwwwwww…

“Larra?” A familiar voice drew my attention. Striding across the courtyard, half-dressed in a leather jerkin was a man I faintly recognized. “Larra? How are you here? Who are these boys? Where’s Robert?“

“Hello Dad” I winced and rose to my feet, “How are you?”

Rickard Stark blinked in confusion.

End of Arc 1

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that nothing is lost forever..."

Chapter Text

The House Targaryen and Supporters (1)

The Royal Family
King on the Iron Throne: King Rhaegar I Targaryen, 'the Fallen' (2)
Queen on the Iron Throne: Vacant (3)
Prince of Dragonstone: Vacant (4)

Others
Queen Dowager Rhaella Targaryen (5)
Princess Daenerys Targaryen (6)

Small Council
Hand of the King: Lord Jon Connington (7)
Master of Laws: Symond Staunton
Master of Ships: Vacant (8)
Master of Coin: Qarlton Chelsted (9)
Master of Whispers: Ratholares (10)
Grand Maester: Vacant (11)

Lord Commander of the Kingsguard: Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. (12)

Lord Paramounts (13)
The Reach: Lord Leyton Hightower (14)
The Stormlands: Lord Jon Connington (15)

The 'House Baratheon' and Supporters (16)

Leaders of the Rebellion (17)
Regent of Westeros and Lord of the Vale: Lord Jon Arryn (18)
Lord of the North: Lord Rickard Stark (19)
Lord of the Riverlands: Lady Catelyn Tully (20)
Lord of the Stormlands: Lord Stannis Baratheon (21)

The House Lannister and Supporters (22)

Royal Family
King in Casterly Rock: King Tywin Lannister, 'the Proud Lion' (23)
Prince of Highgarden: Prince Jaime Lannister, 'the White Lion' (24)
Princess of Highgarden: Princess Janna Lannister (25)

Others
Princess Cersei Lannister (26)
Prince Tyrion Lannister (27)

Small Council
Hand of the King: Kevan Lannister (28)
Master of Laws: Sumner Crakehall
Master of Ships: Paxter Redwyne (29)
Master of Coin: Andros Brax
Grand Maester: Creylan (30)
Ward of the Court: Rhaenys Targaryen (31)

Lord Paramounts
Lord of the Westerlands: Royal Territory
Lord of the West Reach: Paxter Redwyne
Lord of the East Reach: Unchosen

The House Martell and Supporters (32)

Royal Family
Prince of Sunspear: Doran Nymeros-Martell (33)
Princess of Sunspear: Mellario of Norvos (34)
Heiress of Sunspear: Arianne Nymeros-Martell (35)

Others
Oberyn Nymeros-Martell (36)
Elia Nymeros-Martell (37)

The House Greyjoy and Supporters (38)

Royal Family
King on the Seastone Chair: Rodrick Greyjoy (39)
Heir: Maron Greyjoy (40)

1. Technically still the house with the best blood claim to the throne, in practice barely controls anything with impunity. Rhaegar has driven his houses name through the mud after murdering his father, burning his kids and experimenting with numerous magical artefacts. Used to control the second most territory in Westeros, but has lost that position due to the fall of Houses Darry and Tyrell. Now controls the Crownlands, the Stormlands and parts of the Reach and Riverlands.
2. Not very sane and obsessed with Larra. Has fallen under the sway of multiple 'advisors' in the wake of his father's death.
3. Elia has been rescued by her uncle and taken to Dorne.
4. Dead.
5. Doesn't talk much and refuses to acknowledge her son's existence.
6. Born after the burning of Aegon and so spared from the fires. Rhaegar plans to take her as a bride.
7. Still an idiot, given Storm's End by Rhaegar.
8. Lucerys Velaryon has deserted Rhaegar for the rebellion, taking most of the Royal Fleet with him.
9. Planning to assassinate Rhaegar in favor of Daenerys.
10. A mysterious man from the far north, accompanied by a ugly bird on his shoulder. Rumoured to responsible for numerous acts of sorcery and the prince's current condition.
11. Pycelle ran back to the Citadel.
12. The only remaining Kingsguard after numerous defections and several objecting to Rhaegar's murder of Aerys.
13. There used to be over seven here!
14. 'Given' the Reach due to his contain support even after Tywin Lannister's actions.
15. Has a decent control over the Stormlands, though many houses will defect the moment Tywin/Jon/Rickard appear.
16. Technically an alliance to declare Robert Baratheon king (even though he was elsewhere at the time), that has run into a massive roadblock with the revelation that he is in fact dead (FUCKING T-REX!). Backup plans include declaring Stannis Baratheon King, raising Rickard or Jon to King, supporting Tywin Lannister or simply retreating into separate realms. Controls the North, the Vale and most of the Riverlands.
17. A loose council of Lords that fufill the purposes of a small council for the northern realms. Currently dealing with a series of violent disappearances around the caves near High Heart.
18. Appointed the official 'regent' of the rebellion due to experience and relationship to Robert, now arguably the most powerful man in Westeros due to his ward's death. His heir Elbert has followed him to war, distinguishing during the Battle of Gulltown.
19. Very sad about Robert's death since he had halfway planned for Larra to marry him and thereby become queen. Also worried about his daughters odd behavior since returning from Yeen (moreso than usual). Is personally responsible for the extinction of House Darry alongside his sons.
20. Grieving for the rest of her family. Was sent north to marry Brandon when the war broke out, but that has been 'postponed' due to the betrayal of the Darrys. Gets on well with Eddard.
21. Old enough to make his opinions known and quite insistent that the rebels announce him as king. Also mourning Robert and plotting revenge on Natla.
22. In an action no one saw coming, Tywin Lannister declared himself King of Westeros and invaded the Reach. His surprise attack caught the Reachlords by complete surprise and enabled him to capture the castles of Goldengrove, Oak Oak and Highgarden. Houses Rowan and Tyrell were quickly wiped out, the Oakhearts only being spared due to a quick surrender and Tywin's need to show his mercy. The fall of the Tyrells has caused the remaining Reachlords to fall apart and thereby grant Tywin the time he needs to ensure his position in the region.
23. I won't say he's happier than he's ever been...but he's happier than he's ever been. Though the rumours from Castamere have him worried.
24. Rather confused over his new position, since he never imagined that escorting Rhaenys Targaryen to safety would grant his father a crown. Also confused over now being married, though his father's glares have convinced him to 'do his duty' in the bedchamber.
25. See The Wolves of Highgarden for a good summary of her feelings.
26. Pissed that she will now never be queen. Tywin plans to marry her to Robert Baratheon is he appears ().
27. Still hated by his father.
28. Now lord of Goldengrove and unofficial 'Warden of the Border'. Happily married.
29. Given this post due to his timely support of Tywin and to convince more Reachlords to swear allegiance.
30. Appointed to Grand Maester by Tywin's command, does not actually have the power to go with the title for the time being.
31. Does not quite understand what is happening, though misses her brother and mother (though at least Balerion is around to play with her). Tywin plans to marry her to Jaime's son who will be born soon. Or else.
32. The House Martell of this era is one that has suffered countless humiliations. After the marriage of Elia and Rhaegar, it had finally appeared as if their fortunes were picking up - only for that to fall apart when 'the Mad Prince' decided to burn his children and brother alive. As yet unaware of Rhaenys' survival, this house is perhaps the only one that spurns the Iron Throne entirely - declaring their independence from House Targaryen once again. They do march north from Dorne rather than merely guarding their borders, but for revenge rather than conquest. Controls Dorne and some of the Marches.
33. Probably the most stable 'King' in his rule, sine Dorne was fairly independent already. In communication with the Lannisters and STAB, though only to prevent war from coming to Dorne from a non-Tagaryen house.
34. Mellario is extremely displeased by the current situation, though not entirely for selfless reasons. She misses the days when Doran and her were younger and did not have all this responsibility crashing dowan upon their heads.
35. A young girl, who has not yet realized how the severity of the situation.
36. Desires Rhaegar's head and little else.
37. A broken woman. Is only kept from joining her children by the attention of her nieces and brothers.
38. The War of the Mad Prince has both helped and damaged the inhabitants of the Iron Islands. On one hand, the lords of Westeros are now too scattered to defend themselves from a campaign of reeving not seen in decades. Riches and Salt Wives are pouring into home ports like never before. On the other hand however, the islands have suddenly been thrust into a succession crisis following the disappearance of Balon Greyjoy. Longships regularly vanish into the mist now surrounding the islands and whispers of a new god have arisen from the west. Controls the Iron Islands and several other islands.
39. Rodrick Greyjoy is a man just like his father - which is to say a complete idiot, with only a drunken satyr's understanding of warfare. He has however managed to capture the Shield Islands due to the chaos currently occurring in the Reach and has many other planned targets to claim.
40. Like his brother, only stupider.

Chapter Text

Interlude: Eddard and Frostwing

- Riverrun, a few days prior to ‘War’ -

“What have you been feeding him?” I exclaimed, struggling not to fall over from the full weight of a adolescent Ice Dragon. ‘Frosty’ was clearly overjoyed at my presence, considering how his tail was resembling a dog’s with all its wagging. He had shot up in size from when I last saw him, growing from the rough height of a mastiff to that of a stallion.

“Beef mainly” shrugged Ned, “A bit of pork once-“

“He’s massive! Ice Dragons aren’t meant to grow this fast!” I laughed delightedly as the dragon’s cold tongue practically devoured my face.

“He may have also eaten a few of our enemies” Ned remarked. I surreptitiously pushed Frostwing away from my face.

Ew.

“Could you not have mentioned that before he licked my-down Frosty-licked my face?” I groaned. Eddard only shrugged at the sight of my glares. “Brandon must be a bad influence.”

“It was a simple mistake, Larra...”

“Deny it all you wish, brother!” I exclaimed, “I know that at heart you are as dedicated to chaos as the rest of us.”

“I really am not” he muttered.

“This is only the latest sign of your devilry!”

“Larra, you’re overreacting” said Brandon coming over to us, apparently released from whatever my father required him from. He didn’t stay standing for long, collapsing to the ground as the Ice Dragon turned his ‘attentions’ to this new victim. “Ah, get-off Frosty! Yeah, yeah - I love you too.”

The Ice Dragon purred in response and sat down - right on top of Brandon.

“Ah, dammit” muttered Brandon. Ned and I provided no help by bursting into laughter. The heir to the North tried to shove Frostwing off him, before giving up and letting the dragon lick him to his heart’s content.

“If only I was a better painter” I nudged Ned, “I could paint this moment and stick it up in the great hall.”

“Shut up Lar-ahhh!” Brandon’s words cut off in a yelp as Frostwing bit something.

“Dawww!” I said, “Isn’t that cute!”

Ned nudged me. “Uh Larra, Frostwing might have eaten some people remember?”

“Yes, so?” I questioned.

“He does what?!” cried Brandon.

“So, aren’t you worried about him eating Brandon?” Ned replied.

Oh shit.

“Frostwing, here boy!” I cried, waving my hands in what I hoped was a ‘come here-like’ fashion. The dragon (thankfully for Brandon) quickly bounded over, before sitting on his haunches and looking like he wanted to play fetch.

Dawww...Who’s the cutest thing ever, you are! Yes, you are!

I was shouted out of my reverie by a unfamiliar voice. “There you are!” Catelyn Tully was striding across the courtyard, obviously pissed, with a dress in her hands that had clearly been chewed upon by an animal with large teeth.

Oh shit.

Chapter Text

“So...” questioned Jon Arryn, “Robert is...definitely dead?”

I stared. “He was wracked into a wall by a giant lizard; how the fuck could he still be alive?”

“Larra, please watch your language...” muttered Rickard.

“Father!”

The two of them had dragged me into Riverrun’s solar to interrogate, as they had been doing for the last month. My father was sat on my left, his eyes tired and worn from the war. Jon Arryn was sat behind the desk, intently studying a map of Sothoryos. I on the other hand, sat nursing a glass of wine since my throat was sore from shouting at idiots. It didn’t help that my head was still fuzzy from whatever Natla had done to it, as the ‘other’ Lara’s memories had refused to shut up. At times it was difficult to remember who I was and that I was separate from the rest; that I had never been to a land called ‘Angleland’, that I lived in a castle rather than a manor, that I used a bow rather than twin ‘piss-stools’ - though the effectiveness of the latter was admittedly intriguing.

Not that my axes need replacing, they’ve served me more than well over the years.

When I first arrived back at Riverrun, I’d been worried that my axes had failed to make the trip with me. Obviously, I must have left them behind in Yeen, where they’d been dropped on the ground during my confrontation with Natla. Physically it wasn’t an issue; axes were common and even the Valyrian Steel could have been replaced by another from my family’s growing collection in Winterfell. But emotionally their loss was keenly felt; I’d grown with those axes, lived with them for years - they were as much a part of me as my limbs. To lose them was to lose myself, my individuality and the record of my deeds.

It had been three days before they returned - or rather, three days before they were sent back to me. In that time they’d been carved with a myriad of runes; similar if not identical to those on the Scion of Yeen (or was it Atlantis?). Obviously Natla had returned it as a mark of her kindness, probably now ‘blessed’ with tracking charms and Gods know what else. I’d almost considered abandoning them in a petty act of revenge - only to give up instantly when my paranoia returned.

Still...she didn’t return Robert’s body, did she? What kindness is that?

“...you listening?” I was jerked back to reality by Jon Arryn’s voice.

“No” I spat, “I’ve been stuck here for over a month now for a reason you have yet to give me.”

“The war is still-“

I spoke over the Valeman: “Yes, I’ve noticed that the war is still raging. The ‘strange disappearance’ of the Tully’s was enough to make that quite obvious.” I stood up. “But that still doesn’t explain why I need to remain here! I have other things - better things I could be doing rather than sitting around looking pretty!”

“You are here girl, until this alliance has determined a position for you” Jon Arryn reprimanded, “At present I confess I am not sure of that purpose, though your attitude says very little about your worth.”

I scowled. “How do you expect me to act after being stuck here for ages? You won’t allow me to leave the castle, some days I’m not even allowed out of my room! And then-“ I laughed coldly, “Then come the accusations that I murdered Rob-“

My father interrupted my tirade; “Larra, there are...issues you are not aware of.” He grimaced, but reluctantly continued. “Jon does speak the truth, your...expertise in certain affairs could be of use to the Alliance.”

“In what way?” I queried, “I’m not an assassin, if that’s what you’re wondering - I don’t have a subtle bone in my body, do I Dad?”

“Not as an assassin, no” Jon Arryn replied. For a moment he said nothing more, blue eyes scanning the room with blistering intensity. I could imagine his ears were pricked up looking for eavesdroppers and his manner surprised me so much that I felt myself leaning in despite my anger. When he finally did speak, it was in a low whisper.

“You are...familiar with the exploration of old barrow mounds, correct?”

“I am.”

He shifted his jaw. “Several of my men have brought in strange ‘tales’ about a beast lurking in the caverns under High Heart, preying on our men and our enemies without distinction.”

‘A beast?” I was definitely intrigued, but...”Are they sure it’s not a particularly ferocious bear?”

“From what I have heard, the beast is definitely unnatural in nature, Larra” answered my father, “It’s too small to be a bear or wolf, even a boar potentially. The remains-“

“Remains?”

“Of the slain knights. When we found them...most of them, their armor was covered in tiny scratches and dents. All of the bodies share the same marks and the few bites we have preserved are tiny.”

Jon Arryn cut back in then. “The deaths have been occurring in an area approximately three leagues in diameter, centered on the hollow hill and what we presume to be the beast’s lair. I sent several of my men to investigate but, uh...they soon joined the rest of the dead.”

“Did you remember to arm them first?” I sweetly muttered, then quickly continued as the man went purple; “I’ll do it.”

“It will be dangerous Larra” my Father said, taking one of my hands and clasping it firmly in his own calloused paws. “Even for you. These were grown men and knights, not simple bandits struck down whilst sleeping.” His concern was touching, the gentle tone of his voice reminding me the many times I’d managed to bruise myself while young.

But I’m not a child anymore.

“I’ve survived worse.”

“Perhaps” Rickard allowed, “But I fear magic itself is on the rise. The events at High Heart-“

“Rickard” interrupted the Arryn, his voice firm though far from harsh. For a moment I recognized what my anger had previously hidden from me; the dark shadows under his eyes, the taught features of his face - the man was grieving as much as I was. Arryn had thought of Robert as a son, had he not? Robert and my brother Ned had been his wards up in the Eyrie and for a man without surviving children of his own...would he not grieve as I had?

Oh Robert...

I hadn’t cried, even when my lust for Natla’s blood had worn off. But to wake up and know that he was dead; to wake us and know our travels had ended...

And I you...

I blinked harder than usual.

“She should know” said my Father, “What if they try to capture her Jon? What then?”

“The raven’s warning is confidential information - we haven’t even told Yohn or your-“

“They don’t need to know” interrupted Rickard, “Larra does. Or at least a part of it.”

I had stayed quiet through this, but now raised my voice in question: “What do I need to know?”

“You’ve heard of the events taking place in King’s Landing, I assume?” Rickard asked.

“That a mad prince reigns down there, yeah” I replied, then chuckled. “I thought Aerys was meant to be the nutty one, not his son.”

“Rhaegar is far madder than Aerys ever was” Jon said, “Burning his children, his parents...something dark sits in the former prince’s soul. I wish we’d seen it sooner.”

Rickard smiled sadly. “There’s nothing you could have done Jon. The boy hid his true nature too well, far too well for anyone to know.” His smiled had vanished when he turned back to me. “He lusts after you Larra. Even before the war, he was sending letters to Winterfell asking for you to ‘visit’ King’s Landing.”

“A bit creepy” I muttered, “But I don’t see why that changes anything - I’m still your daughter, he’d want me as a hostage even if I wasn’t...well, me.”

But my Father wasn’t swayed. “You don’t understand Larra; He asked for you before the war, but now...now he demands you in the letters of a madman.” His face was grim. “Word of your arrival will have reached King’s Landing by now, I’m sure so...when his army marches north, they’ll be coming straight for you.”

“I have word from the Riverlands, your Grace” whispered the Spy, genteel and humble as always. His hands were as always clasped on a twisted staff and that infernal bird sat rigid on his shoulder, black eyes studying everything (and everyone) in the throne room.

Jon Connington had hated him from the beginning. Ratholares’ appearance in Aerys’ court had signaled the change in Rhaegar, the birth of this true madness that raged through the noble prince’s veins like wildfire. Whether or not he was responsible for this change, Jon could not say - but he had certainly encouraged it with his whispers and rumors. If you not for the war conducted by the Rebels, he would have met his end long ago by Jon’s hand; only necessity kept him alive at this point, for without him the war would already have been lost.

The pale figure that was his prince shifted on the Iron Throne, his red toothless gums oozing with blood - though whether his own or another’s, Jon could not say. Rhaegar hissed out a command, in a voice too fractured for any but his Master of Whispers to understand. Distantly, Jon remembered the man this Targaryen had once been...before the madness of his forefathers had arisen within him. Once he had been the most handsome man in all of Westeros...not so now. Now his face was split in a permanent grin and the fires of chaos danced in his eyes.

“Larra Stark has returned to Westeros, your Grace” whispered Ratholares, with the ghost of a smile. “Your champion has come home.”

The beast in the Dragon’s skin smiled.

And so therefore, did Rhaegar.

Robert’s brothers had not wanted me to leave. Well, to be more precise Renly Baratheon had not wanted me to leave, though even Stannis had disliked the idea - he just hid it better. Officially the two of them were honored guests of the Rebel Alliance while my Father and Jon Arryn debated on what to do now that Robert - their best candidate as an alternative king - was dead. In actuality they were little more than prisoners of the alliance due to the Fall of Storm’s End, though they were not under threat as even without a kingdom a Baratheon was useful.

I doubt Jon could bring himself to harm Robert’s brothers anyway. Though Stannis might destroy his good will if he doesn’t shut up for once.

The boy - though in all honesty he was slightly older than I was - had insisted that the Lords declare for him in Robert’s place, despite the fact that none of them had even met him before. Obviously this attempt hadn’t succeeded, despite the assurances of the council that ‘they would consider it’. I only knew this because I’d been forced to sit in on the discussions, dressed in a gown (yuck!) that may once have belonged to a daughter of Lord Darry before his Family’s extinction. Usually I would have disliked wearing the clothes of a dead woman, but considering Darry’s actions it was surprisingly easy to ignore that fact - I had seen Catelyn Tully briefly while exploring Riverrun, the poor woman wandering about her childhood home in a daze. Apparently, my Father had confined her to her rooms with the explanation that her mind was ‘troubled’. I assumed that was a polite way to say grieving.

I wish my brother had decided to stay with her.

Evidently my father had not been entirely convinced by my relaxed attitude and so had dispatched my eldest brother Brandon to accompany me to High Heart. In all honesty, it was nice to see him again after such a prolonged period and to check that he hadn’t gotten himself castrated by an angry father (he hadn’t, though he’d gained a gruesome notch in one of his ears); but it reeked of them trying to keep an eye on me and I would have preferred not to have a new travelling partner so soon after Robert’s death. Besides which, Brandon might have been good natured (if possibly a tad too reckless) but he knew nothing of exploration or the dangers a ruin might hold.

Brandon’s horse (a foul-tempered black stallion called Shadowfex) whinnied loudly as we passed by a destroyed house, the structure caved in recently by fire if the blackened scorch marks were any indication. If I had to guess, the Darry army had probably done it on their way to attack Riverrun; though in all fairness any of the armies currently occupying the Riverlands could have done such a thing. Or it could simply be bandits, since those always started to appear out of the stonework during wartime.

“How’s the horse?” Brandon asked. He was barely paying attention to the movement of his steed, showing the comfort of a man who had practically lived in the saddle. This was profoundly annoying to me, because I hadn’t ridden a horse in over two years and was therefore having immense difficulty.

“Fine” I grunted.

“Are you sure?” he sang.

“Shut it, Brany” I growled. It wasn’t my fault that horses disliked me, it wasn’t my fault that my ass felt like it was on fire! He tried to merely raise an eyebrow in response, but couldn’t stop himself from smirking like a hyperactive five-year old. I sighed; “This is totally revenge for the blackmail isn’t it.”

He looked shifty. “Nooooo…”

“I don’t know why you’re upset” I said, not entirely seriously; “You looked very pretty in that dress.”

“Father wouldn’t speak to me for days!”

“More time for you to spend in the training yard.”

“I had to regrow an entire beard!”

“It wasn’t that good in the first place.”

“You burnt all my smallclothes!”

I laughed. “Actually, that was Ned.” Brandon looked dumbfounded. “I told him to just hide all of them, but he panicked and threw them onto a bonfire.”

“Really?” my brother asked, “I can’t see Ned doing…anything like that.”

“Really.” I chuckled, “You would not believe what I had to do to stop him from apologizing and ruining the surprise.”

Brandon grunted. “It wasn’t much of a surprise.”

As we rode on, I started to notice more signs of the war devastating the Riverlands. Many of the fields around us were devoid of human life despite their produce being ready for harvest. Occasionally other cottages purged by fire would appear, with crows and ravens their only inhabitants – no sign left behind of the smallfolk families that would have once lived within them. A mist hung close to the land, hampering visibility and ensuring that both I and my brother looked as if we’d just gone swimming. It was the middle of summer, but the chill of a future winter had claimed the land.

I would have hated it less if I hadn’t recently spent several months in the warm, dry south.

But there were other signs as well. A taste of static was in the air, a sign of a coming thunderstorm, perhaps. I had assumed so, but then I remembered my father’s words; “Magic is on the rise.” Could it be? The mist certainly didn’t feel natural and apparently had never happened before on a scale such as this (Catelyn Tully’s words, not mine). The world itself felt somewhat…looser, as if the laws set down by the Gods were more flexible, as if they’d had holes smashed through them to let something in. And the rumors from all over Westeros supported this idea; monsters in High Heart, fire demons in Castamere, mass disappearances in the Iron Islands, the sudden madness of King’s Landing! Something was up, I was sure of it.

The only question is what that something was.

As the sun set over the fields, I could see our destination looming dark against the horizon. The hill of High Heart was blanketed by trees, as it had been since the Age of Heroes according to legend. The history books stated that it bore a crown of thirty-one weirwood stumps, left over from a battle during the Andal Invasion. Apparently, the hill had been sacred to the Children of the Forest and the First Men, akin to the Isle of Faces. Looking at it now I could believe that; it’s silhouette resembled a great dark skull raised against the blazing sunset.

Brandon wasn’t as impressed. “We should camp here for the night – make our way to the caves tomorrow” he said.

I shook my head, “Not here. We’re far too exposed to attack.” The fields wouldn’t cover us from anyone’s sight; bandits, soldier or worse.

“What would you suggest then? Surely we can’t head into the forest yet, it’s nearly nightfall!”

“We could” I allowed, “But yeah, that’s probably not a brilliant idea with a ‘beast’ on the loose. I vote we sleep in there instead.” I pointed out the source of my attentions, a wooden barn precariously built up against the great wall of trees. It looked positively ancient, but if anything that would help us as few would consider it of note. Though even then…

“I’ll take first watch” I stated, deliberately phrasing that as a fact rather than as a suggestion.

But my brother still disagreed. “You don’t have to Larra, I’m perfectly fine to– “

“Which is why you can take second watch.” The mist had somewhat lifted as the sun fell, but even as we rode over to the ruin I wrapped my cloak firmly around me. “All the interesting things attack late at night, so don’t worry.” He grunted. Unbeknownst to Brandon, there was another reason behind my desire to take the first watch. Now that I was finally away from Riverrun, I wanted to start getting my thoughts in order – to look further into the memories of the ‘other Larra’. The possibility of the beast turning up early was only a bonus (though I would probably wake Brandon if that happened. Probably).

We had packed sleeping rolls onto the horses and so after guiding them into an enclosed area of the barn which thankfully still had most of it’s roof, the two of us settled down for the night. Or at least Brandon did; I sat pondering my thoughts long into the night.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

On the lawn in front of me, a manor house burnt. The heat was intense, scalding me from head to toe. I felt as if my skin would melt off from the very weight of itself, but I carried on regardless.

I have to see this!

Ahead of me were stood three people, two of which were men. One looked like a Maester with an aged face and white hair. But the other could not have looked more different, he resembled a Summer Islander with his dark skin and loose clothes. At their feet lay a third man, who judging by his lack of movement and bloody clothes had recently passed on. Their eyes surveyed the burning building, a magnificent dwelling that could have stood up to some castles in its elegance and grandeur.

But they weren’t the source of my attention.

…back, Larra! You must…

A tall, dark haired woman stood a few feet away from the men, dressed in a dark tunic of leather with numerous belts that carried unfamiliar weaponry. I couldn’t see her face from here, but I already knew what it looked like – a mirror of my own, only older.

She was speaking, but I was too far away to hear her well: “After I deal…the authorities…to Southern…retrieve…Belt.” The Summer Islander replied, apparently dumbfounded by her words.

I crept closer.

Run…Danger! Wake up…

“I need …’s belt to get to his hammer, and I need the hammer to kill a god!” the other Larra spat…and then time froze. The burning mansion, the huddled men, my other self – all became still and silent. And I heard a whisper of the wind.

“She wasn’t precisely a god, though was she?” said the woman’s voice, echoing across to me from some distant place.

“Was who?” I asked, before adding another question; “Who are you?”

“Who am I? Well, that’s a question for the philosophers.” She chuckled. “I am…an echo, to put it simply. An echo of another world entirely.”

“Another world?”

“Like yours in some ways, though not identical.” It was more than strange to hear my voice coming from someone else, especially when I couldn’t even see the person responsible.

“Where are…we, what is this place?”

“A memory.” Her voice was heavy with grief. “Listen, Larra-“

“You know me?”

“I know myself - You cannot trust anything Natla says, she is a vile snake that will kill you the moment she gets the chance.”

“I don’t trust her” I spat, “She killed my friend.” My voice was heavy with grief. “Who is she truly? Without this ‘Goddess of Yeen’ nonsense.”

The woman hummed. “An old enemy, our eldest in many ways. Her race called themselves Atlanteans, named after their ‘island paradise’ before it was struck by a meteor.”

“A what?”

“A falling star thing, it doesn’t really matter. The important thing is this – she isn’t human. You cannot slay her as you could a human, our weapons would do barely anything to her.” A bitter laugh ensued from her. “In truth, she is effectively a god compared to us.”

Only certain things can kill a god.

I jolted back to reality, immediately panicking when I noticed that I was no longer in the abandoned barn. My axe was quickly in my hand and I sprung up, preparing to smash in my kidnapper’s brains.

I stopped when Brandon made himself known by screaming like a little girl. “Larra! Larra! It’s alright, we’re fine, no one’s kidnapped us, please don’t hurt me-“

“Why are we in a cave, Brandon?” I sniffed the air. “Why do we smell of blood?”

“The beast” he replied, “It attacked us in the barn, I only got away from it by sprinting into the wood.”

“You got away from the beast by hiding in it’s lair?” I spluttered, “Why did you even consider this option, let alone do it?”

“It had already eaten the horses!” he shouted, “And the rabbit was blocking the path away from the hill!”

“Then run to the-wait, a Rabbit? What Rabbit?”

“I was asking the same thing to the Gods earlier” he shrugged, “And usually I would agree with you on me being ridiculous, but seeing the little monster decapitate our horses was enough evidence for me to run in the opposite direction.”

…There are killer rabbits now?

Chapter Text

Arc 2 Part 2: Gold

On a hillside, a Raven cackled with glee. With a final sharp peck, he succeeded in extracting an eyeball from the fallen knight’s skull; a delicacy that he quickly swallowed with a caw of pleasure.

The cloak riding on his back sighed at the discomfort this motion created, assuming of course that rodent skeletons can sigh. For the Death of Rats, this was just another unending day for him to deal with, another eternity filled with souls to collect for the afterlife. It wasn’t bad, to be honest - just average.

For Quoth however, it was an excellent day due to the aforementioned eyeball. Such a delicious treat for his hardworking self.

The rat skeleton sighed:

SQUEEK

And the story continued...

————————

- The Caverns of Caerbannog, below High Heart -

The wet floor of the cave squelched underneath our feet as Brandon and I moved deeper into the tunnels of High Heart. Thanks to two sticks and some moss, the two of us had been able to craft a makeshift torch in an attempt to see through this cursed darkness. Even with its aid however, the paths ahead and behind remained enveloped in shadows. We could barely see a few feet ahead of us at any time, though what we could see wasn’t comforting. Deep scratches had been sliced into the cave walls, slices that surely came from the beast behind us. They did not make any sense as a carving, though some of them appeared to have a hidden reason behind their presence. They formed crude shapes on the tunnel walls; almost rune-like in their design. A dark part of me wondered if they were tally marks, for the monster’s kills – did this mean it was more than a mere animal? Could it be reasoned with? Did it want something more substantial than food?

Aside from our footsteps and the burning torch I could not hear anything, which would have been unnerving in any situation. With the beast presumably hunting us it was unbearable, a painful calm before the final storm. I didn’t like surprises, especially when they threatened mine and my brother’s lives. So despite common sense dictating it as stupidity, I allowed myself to speak with Bran. Talking would raise my spirits, which had been mellow for too long. Far too long.

As usual, our talk quickly turned into an argument.

“Are you sure it wasn’t a dog, Bran?” I asked.

“It was a rabbit, Larra” he replied.

“Not even a hare?” I questioned.

“Aren’t they the same thing as rabbits?” he muttered.

“Brandon.”

“It wasn’t a hare, Larra. It was a rabbit, white as snow - which is what I’ve been saying for the past ten minutes!” The peeved northerner swivelled around to face me; “Considering everything you’ve apparently seen, is that so difficult to believe?”

I sighed. “It’s not that it defies belief Bran - as you say I’ve seen weirder. It just seems…random, for a demonic rabbit to be the cause of all this trouble. What sort of demon goes around possessing rabbits? I’d expect animals would make better targets.”

“I don’t know” he shrugged; “Though Robert...before he um...before that, mentioned that I should remind you of ‘Lorath’ whenever a subject like this came up. I’m not entirely sure what he was referring to…” He stuttered, the rough features of his face glowing red in embarrassment.

“Oh by all the Gods” I groaned. “Firstly, that was a Kraken which is a completely normal creature to encounter; the Greyjoy’s use it as a flag for a reason. Secondly, the great flood had nothing whatsoever to do with us. I actually tried to prevent it!…though I may have fucked up in the end.” As I muttered, Brandon slowly raised an eyebrow. “It was Davos’s fault anyway, if he hadn’t-”

“Sis?”

“-how was I meant to know what that lever did?”

Brandon sighed. “Larra, you’re rambling again.”

“Oh.” I snapped back to reality’s cold embrace, blushing at zoning out on Bran again. “In fairness, it really wasn’t-Wait!” The last word was shouted - a decision I instantly regretted when my brother jumped from fright, kicking away the object I had suddenly noticed glinting among the dirt on the cave floor. I crouched down to retrieve it, passing him the torch.

The object was a small golden charm of some kind, fashioned in the shape of a cross. It had been beautifully crafted by some blacksmith, though I wondered on its meaning - which people (if any) in Westeros used crosses as charms? More to my immediate concern, how had it ended up here in a dark cave? There were no bones to mark that someone had died here and the possibility of the ‘rabbit’ hoarding jewelry seemed extremely unlikely.

Could someone have dropped it here? Perhaps one of Father’s procured knights?

I pocketed it to muse over later, though as I did so I noted the cylindric bottom of the cross, notably far longer and plain compared to the rest of the artefact. It tapered to a thin point, akin to a needle. Could it have once been part of something bigger? Maybe a necklace? Or a brooch?

Maybe a tiny dagger for killing rabbits. Ha!

“Anything important?” Brandon asked.

“I don’t think so” I replied; “Just a little charm of some kind.”

I put the pin out of mind for now. Once we were out of these oppressive caves, the morning light would make any examination much easier. So I retrieved the torch from Brandon and set off again with him following nervously. The cave had somewhat widened out, though the floor was even more unsteady and uneven. It dipped downwards steeply, then rose again around an invisible ‘pothole’. Dust sprung up at every one of our footsteps, while small stones crunched under our boots. Well, hopefully they were just stones – some of the rubble was an ominous white color...

Our feet made too much noise as we moved ever forward. Every moment I expected the ‘rabbit’ to leap out at us, tiny fangs and claws bared to feast. From what my father and Jon Arryn had said, I doubted there would a way for us to kill it easily. I was good with an axe yes and generally talented with the bow; but the fallen knights were presumably good with a sword as well and they were wearing armor far better than mine. After the events in Yeen I had been stuck wearing a set of chainmail ‘borrowed’ from a dead Riverrun guard, since my old equipment had not survived the trip southwards intact. Valyria had been most to blame, since my fall from a tower there had left me with only the cracked remnants of my old Tyroshi set. It was a damned shame, since the armor had served me well despite its cheapness. Plus, my current chainmail was far too heavy for my liking.

Still, I had the bracelet as a token of visiting that ruined city. The golden dragon had stayed affixed to my forearm from that day onwards, though I’d sensibly covered it up while in my father’s camp – a dragon symbol was unlikely to go down well with the soldiers. Even if it was eating it’s own tail.

“I saw a rabbit kill a snake once, y’know” muttered Bran; “The crazy animal pretty much ripped the poor thing apart – those teeth aren’t just for show.” He laughed nervously. “It’s not great to think of them being turned on us…”

“We’ll survive” I reassured him, “You’ve got me to look after you, big brother.”

Brandon grinned. “I think it’s meant to be the other way around” he said; “I’m supposed to protect your ‘honor’ from all the devious bards and bastards trying to steal your maidenhood.” He snickered.

I raised an eyebrow. “Supposed to? You haven’t tried to intervene once! And considering some of the characters I’ve met, that is quite worrying.”

“None of them were trying to take your maidenhood though” Brandon replied, “Davos is married, the pirate only loves gold and Robert-“ He paled. “Uh…Robert was too…honorable to try anything…” His eyes rested on me for a second and his mouth set in a hard line.

“Robert was hardly honorable” I scoffed, though quietly and without any of my previous warmth.

“…do you want to talk-“

“I’d rather not.”

Brandon refused my request for silence. “He died bravely Larra, that’s what Robert would have wanted.”

“I imagine” I growled, “That he would have preferred to live, Brandon.”

“I know” he said, “But even more than that-“

I spun to face him, with sudden anger. “Could we not discuss this now, Brandon? There are better times, there are better places!”

“You’re hurting now” he replied, “What better time is there?”

“Any time!” I snapped; “And I am not ‘hurting’ as you put it! Yes, I’ve been mourning him but that’s normal! Why wouldn’t I mourn him? He did die in front of me!”

“But you don’t talk as you used to” Brandon said; “When we were younger you would always be dragging me and Ned down into the crypts to show off stuff that you found. When we younger, you could spend hours talking about the smallest things. When we were younger-“

“The world has changed since we were younger” I muttered; “And I understand…things more than I did back then, Bran.” The memory of Yeen returned to me then, a portrait of that dark city in the midst of the jungle: a shadow so deep that no light could enter its halls. “I know too much now, to be as I was.” I knew of other worlds and other histories. I knew of legends spoken by tongues alien to mine. I knew of other Lara’s; the reflections of my own life and existence.

“I know myself-”

The problem was that I didn’t understand any of it. The memories came to me with ease, but in a random nonsensical order. There was no cohesion or sense to their appearances at all, or at least not any that I could understand. Any connections between them were coincidences; it wasn’t even as if they were all the pieces of some gigantic puzzle, considering they came from different lives! Different Lara’s, all with their own tales to tell! I had through a lot of effort managed to identify at least four distinct echoes of myself, but that didn’t account for the visions that could fit into any of them – or the ones that couldn’t.

“The past shouldn’t worry you, Larra” Brandon said, “The stuff that you find…it was made centuries or millennia ago. The people involved are long dead now.”

Oh sweet brother, you couldn’t be more wrong. The people of then...they remain despite the passage of ages.

I did not say that his face though. That tale would not pass from my lips now, perhaps not ever. So instead I lied.

“Of course” I said, “I know that.”

Brandon hummed. For the next few meters we strode in silence, our feet crunching through rubble and bone. The cave had widened out once again, but this time the floor hadn’t dipped down along with it. Instead it had leveled out onto an almost sharp flatness – more akin to the floor of a castle than a cave. Apparently our endless descent was finally over.

“Judging by the amount of bones, this must be the beast’s lair” I murmured, before pressing forward at the slowest of paces. “Be on your guard Bran.”

He nodded, knuckles clenched white around the hilt of his longsword. The cave – no, the cavern was of an impressive size, about 300 yards in diameter. The roof rose up into a shallow dome, which under the light of the torches was revealed to bear rune-marks identical to those of the tunnels here. These faint few however reflected the light of the torch back at us, glistening like tiny stars imprinted in the rock. And underneath them...were the bones I had made reference to. Not all were from the bodies of men - judging by size I was able to pick out the hip bones of women and the tiny broken skulls of children. Some demon had laid them upon each other down here in the gloom, so that they formed a white mountain picked clean of all flesh; a ghoulish spectacle to deter all but the foolish and mad.

But the mountain did not draw my gaze for long. Upon its peak was sat a seat of tempered brass, forged into the image of hellfire. There was nobody sitting in it however, the throne remained empty…aside from a small golden orb, placed with some reverence in the center of this eldritch pinnacle.

Brandon was confused. “What’s that?” he asked, stepping towards the mound and orb with perplexed carelessness.

“I…don’t know” I shrugged; “No idea, though I would be careful with it and that pile anyway.”

“You’re worried about these bones turning into wights?”

“Honestly, I was more worried about them dropping that chair on top of you; I somewhat doubt their stability.” I slowly stepped forward myself, legs ready to leap back at any sign of the pile giving way. The torch was laid on the ground, as I would rather not risk our source of light while meddling in the darkness. “But it feels like a trap…” I ruminated on the possibility of deliberately knocking the rabbit’s hoard over, an idea which would probably be safest for us but risked damaging the golden orb. And that was something I couldn’t allow, for I was sure that the Orb was somehow important. From a closer perspective I could make out carvings similar to those on the walls imprinted into its surface. These however were smoothly cut, almost delicately sliced into the golden skin of the sphere.

Brandon was fiddling with the edge of the bone pile. “There’s something buried underneath here!” he called; “Some kind of stone step, I think!”

I ran over to him. What he said was true; underneath the bones before him were a set of stone steps hidden beneath the white mountain. They were made out of a dark stone to hide beneath this monument, but they were oily to the touch – in places the bones were firmly stuck to them.

“It’s no kind of rock I’ve ever seen” Brandon muttered; “You would think that the torch would light it up, only- Larra?”

A dark, oily stone…that light will not touch…

“I’ve seen something like this before” I whispered; “Something very similar.”

Brandon seemed unnerved by my tone. “Is that a problem?”

“Yes.” I rubbed the bracelet on my arm in an attempt to calm the sudden shiver making its way down my spine. “Because the place I saw this before was the City of Yeen.”

“…is that meant to mean something?” he asked.

I was flabbergasted by his lack of response. “You seriously don’t know what Yeen is?” Brandon shook his head. “Seriously? The city so evil that ‘even the jungle won’t enter’?”

“You’re not ringing any bells.”

“Argh!” I cried out in frustration; “Do you never read anything Bran?” He shrugged. “Yeen is a city in Sothoryos, deep in the jungles. It’s built out of this same stone, which originally comes from the Atlantean or Yamateian civilization – it’s complicated. They were an advanced civilization that could build these magnificent moving structures – and create weird monsters – but the structures were awesome. Awe-inspiring! Seriously, you wouldn’t see anything like it elsewhere-“

“Larra?”

“-if only I had some idea how they did it-“

“Sis?”

“-the things I could do would be superb-“

“Larra, you’re rambling” Brandon said; “Again.”

“Shit, sorry.” I rubbed my head to regain some composure. “Basically: Advanced Civilization, kinda evil, kinda still with us, fond of creating monsters.”

“Does that explain the rabbit then?” he asked.

“Hmm, maybe…” I thought about it, “The few times I’ve seen one they’ve all been really obvious, you could tell that there was something up just by looking at them. Though even then, there was that weird lizard thing…maybe. That’s all I can say, maybe.”

“Ah.” For a few moments we remained standing there, staring at the step and each other – and the passageway back in case the rabbit decided to make an appearance. Brandon finally spoke up. “Does knowing the stone’s origin help us then?”

“Maybe” I grinned; “If I remember correctly, the Atlantean structures I’ve been in weren’t big on traps so…” I climbed onto the step. “So there might not be a problem with climbing this mountain at all!”

And aside from the crunching bones beneath my boots, there wasn’t. Oh, it was a steep climb but hardly unpleasant. It took barely a minute for the two of us to reach the throne and after a quick examination for tripwires, I picked up the Orb and stowed it away in a pocket.

“Problem solved!” I exclaimed; “Now how do we get out of here?”

“And deal with the rabbit, remember?” Brandon said; “That is why we came here in the first place.”

“Oh yeah” I replied, “We probably should do that.” I scanned the area for ideas.

“We could cause a cave in?” Bran suggested; “Lure the beast down here then trap it inside.”

“How do we cause a cave in with our current gear though? I have a rope and various weapons, do you even have the rope?”

“It was just an idea” he muttered.

“It’s a decent idea” I replied; “I just don’t know how to accomplish it. Hmm…” The two of us walked back over to the entrance of the room. Annoyingly, the ceiling was too high for me to reach even with weapon outstretched. Brandon managed to touch if with the point of his sword, but his prodding only resulted in a shower of dirt and a coughing fit.

So that isn’t going to work then…

“Perhaps we should-“ I began.

There was a squeak from down the tunnel.

The Rabbit!

I mouthed “Get Back!” at Brandon, before slowly doing that myself; taking care to avoid stepping on the bones of the creature’s previous victims. We retreated into the shadows and Brandon reached for the torch to snuff it out – dissuaded only by a frantic shake of my head. It was too far now, we would have to pray that this Rabbit wasn’t the most observant of animals. Still…I drew my axe from its sheath. Its weight was at least somewhat comforting.

The Rabbit bounded into the room, its nose twitching as it sniffed the air of its lair. Its mouth was contrary to my expectations clear of blood – perhaps it had failed to find prey this night. The creature’s dark eyes scanned the room for intruders, quickly alighting on the still burning torch lying unattended next to the mountain of bones. It hopped over, ears and nose twitching in apparent confusion. It growled at the torch, bearing a set of fangs far too vicious for such a small creature. The Rabbit knew someone had been here, but it didn’t know where that person was currently…

I didn’t intend to give it the opportunity to find out.

I turned to Brandon and with my eyes alone gestured him towards the passageway. He and I would need a distraction to escape, but what to use...I drew a dagger from my belt.

If I’m very lucky, this will kill it.

I breathed in, tried to calm my nerves…and threw the dagger at the creature. I screamed for Brandon to run as I did the same, both of us pelting up the tunnel at the speed of wind. Judging by the sound of breaking metal behind me (as well as a shit-inducing squeak), I had failed to even wound the beast. But I didn’t wait to try again; the axe was firm in my grasp as I raced up what felt like a mountainside, dirt and bone and rubble being flung aside by the crunching of my feet. Brandon’s footfalls were heavier, but he was slightly faster than I after years of training in the tiltyard. Interestingly, I could see him striking the walls and ceiling of the tunnel with his sword as we charged upwards.

“What are you doing?” I yelled; a task that was made horribly difficult by my heaving lungs.

“I’m trying to cause a cave in!” Brandon called back, “Or at least throw dirt in the demon’s face!”

“All you’re succeeding at is throwing dirt in my face!” I replied; “Stop it!”

Brandon failed to listen and continued to stab at the walls, causing no noticeable damage to the tunnel’s structural integrity but a lot of irritation of my part. Behind us I could the rabbit squeaking in rage – every moment I feared that it would be snapping at my literal heels. For even with our combined experience, we were not moving fast enough to escape it. Soon it would be upon us and our lives would be forfeit.

When the moment arrived however, it was unexpected on my part. We had reached the crater within the tunnel and as the floor sloped down we both tripped. Our falter was only for a second, but that was enough. The Rabbit leaped, teeth outstretched…only for me to block it’s path with a sudden swipe of my axe. But rather than be flung away by the force of my blow, the beast hung on and bit down into the Valyrian Steel!

That’s Impossible!

In all my travels I had never seen anything except a proper metalworking forge ever effect a piece of Valyrian Steel. Nothing ever! After all, the blades had been forged by the mages of Valyria; formed out of a mastery of blood and fire magic that no known civilization could match, let alone defeat. Even the Atlanteans for all their strange and dark technology had not even scratched this weapon! But this beast, this rabbit had just bitten into one as easily as I would a loaf of bread! How? What the flaming fuckballs was this thing?!

Even though the rabbit should have weighed barely anything, I could hardly keep the axe up as it’s jaws sunk deeper into the metal. The axe groaned under the pressure, sounding more akin to a dying man than a weapon. It seemed to vibrate in agony, writhing as this demon tore it apart. And I couldn’t move, even to let go of the axe. My bones were an iron frame, fixing me to the ground. Shock and terror were the causes; it is hard to overstate just how intimidating such a small thing could be. The lack of light in the tunnel made the experience even worse, for I could not see death approaching me – only a sickly white silhouette with shadows for eyes. Nothing else existed. Not the tunnel, not the bones at my feet, certainly not Brandon who had vanished on ahead; the golden light from my wrist-

Wait.

The bracelet…is glowing?

A soft golden light was now being emitted from the golden dragon that curled around my wrist. It had done this unnoticed and even with the Rabbit providing distraction it somehow held my attention. This relic of Valyria awoke in recognition of the death of it’s kin, demanding recompense against the one who dared to defy the Dragonlords. As if I was in a dream, it reared up off my arm and cried out to the dark tunnel. It’s eyes glinted red, it’s teeth and claws white in the reflection of an invisible sunrise.

And when it spoke, the entire tunnel shook with it’s fury.

“I come, rider.”

The light was an inferno now, the icon fully stirred from unlife. It coiled and uncoiled around my arm, crawling across the skin to rear up against the Rabbit’s fury. Busy as I was resisting the beast’s jaws, I could do nothing but watch as it crawled onto my hand and rested it’s head against the blade of the axe.

“The Future comes!”

The cracked weapon glowed a violent red and erupted in my hands. Both I and the Rabbit were flung backwards by the force of the explosion and we were not the only thing affected. The roof of the tunnel caved in with a sudden roar, dirt and earth pouring down in a uncontrollable tide. It was a literal blessing of the gods that none hit me.

For I hadn’t moved from where I had fallen. The explosion had winded me severely and perhaps more still considering how my hands burnt. All I could do was watch, as the dragon once again curled up as a bracelet and quietly spoke.

“I will be with you. In this fire or the next, Lahra.”

“Did…Cob-”

As I fell into oblivion, the name of a dragon danced on my lips. But I had realized the truth now, finally. The truth about my pasts, the answers previously denied to me through my own obliviousness.

That other world wasn’t the only place previous lives of mine had lived.

I had lived in Planetos before as well.

This has all happened before…

----------------

The trip from High Heart to Seaguard would have been long for any traveler, even at the best of times. For me it was even worse, as I had to avoid Riverrun as if the place was infested with Greyscale. Oh, and the Riverlands were still at war – that was fairly important as well, probably. The most difficult part of the travel had been ditching Brandon. Apparently my father wanted us both to return to his camp with all haste once the job was done – which it was since I doubted the Rabbit would be able to get through the collapsed tunnel – but…I had better other plans. One day north of High Heart, I snuck off from Brandon’s company in the night and headed west. I would have done it earlier, but the burns on my hands had needed attention and that had delayed me.

It was probably a bit mean to him, but I did leave a note for Bran to find.

The lack of horses had made things both easier and harder for my escape. On one hand, I didn’t have to worry about Brandon alerting my father for several days, allowing me to escape the initial area they would search in with no difficulty. It also meant that my overall journey would be much longer however, which was a problem when I had limited supplies of food and water. I also didn’t have many medical supplies, which was proving an issue since the burns on my hands refused to heal. They stood out starkly from my pale flesh, the red misshapen skin resembling nothing so much as the flames that birthed them. The burns were not a constant pain by now thankfully, but would flare up whenever I dared to wriggle my fingers or clench my fists. Even now as I strolled through the town of Seaguard, they ached with every swing of my arms and every movement of the wind.

To disguise the scarring I had resorted to wearing my gloves permanently, or else I would face the questions and stares of any who noticed my disfigurement. I had learnt the truth of that during my stay at the Inn of the Kneeling Man, when the owner and his wife and his son had repeatedly asked about the source of my misfortune. They hadn’t been suspicious of the burns, not now when the southern Riverlands were still being ripped to pieces; but combined with my garments and weapons they thought it of some interest. I had been stupid enough to think my obviously Tully armor wouldn’t draw any notice, for in the Free Cities and the North most would have simply ignored a woman in armor – especially one who was clearly armed. But even then, being the subject of curiosity wasn’t an issue; in truth it was quite flattering. The problem was that anyone looking for me, whether Stark/Arryn or Targaryen in origin would be able to follow talk of ‘the woman in armor’ and track me down that way. That I could not allow, though the measures I had taken as consequence were not to my liking.

Even if I do make a pretty good man.

Sheering my hair short had been the worst part of crafting my male image, for I in my vanity had appreciated having a long ponytail. The new short haircut felt weird, and the constant tickling of hair on the back of my neck was very irritating. Compared to that the process of dirtying up my face and binding my breasts was surprisingly easy; though I’d resorted to stealing a leather cloak to further disguise my appearance. Speaking low was another matter however and my inability to impersonate a male Riverlander had convinced me to speak only when necessary.

Still, the disguise had worked well – perhaps too well, for several inhabitants of the villages that I passed through had been spotted giving approving looks in my direction (I was unsure what to think about this situation). Seaguard was better on that front; for there were enough strongly masculine soldiers around that I was rarely noticed. The biggest settlement of the Riverlands would have been called small anywhere else in the world (even the other parts of Westeros), but compared to the rest of this war-torn kingdom it was a gigantic monument to civilization. The streets and roads of the town bustled with activity, smallfolk, highborn and merchants alike rushing around in a joyous throng. The air was thick with the cries of the port’s inhabitants; from shopkeepers announcing their wares, to women gossiping in a corner, to a Septon preaching about ‘the End of Days!’ (though that last was hardly unusual anywhere in the world). The town and inhabitants alike were surrounded by massive grey stone walls, built high and wide to defend against the Ironborn menace. There was no sign of the war here; indeed there was no sign that anyone was even worried. The faces of children and adults alike shone with joy, a feeling that was infectiousness enough for me to begin smiling myself as I strolled down to the port.

I was in Seaguard to catch a ship to the Iron Islands, since the rumors of sea monsters and ghost ships had me very interested. Also it got me away from my father and Jon Arryn, which would undoubtably be good. My disguise was involved in this plan, since with my money supply tight I had needed to find an alternate way of getting on the ship. A woman sailor would not have been accepted, even if I let my true identity slip to ease the process. A male on the other hand…well, more sailors were always useful in wartime.

Ned would say that lying to gain employment is dishonorable, hah!

It took me a while to track down a suitable looking ship for passage to the islands; enough time had passed during my search for the sun to be low in the sky even though I had arrived around midday. My target was obviously a ship built for war, a long and stout galleon that lay low in the water flying the Mallister eagle. It looked just about ready to head off as I approached, so I hurried along the harbor walk to seek out a person of importance. A few sailors were sat around playing dice alongside the gangplank and after some insistent prodding they pointed me towards a broad-hatted man sitting on a box several meters away, the apparent First Mate of the ‘Queen Alysanne’s Revenge’ (which was a rather odd name for a ship, to be sure). The man was tall with broadly set; but despite this he had a rather decrepit look to him. Perhaps it was the scraggily beard or the deep-set features of his face, or perhaps it was something to do with the wily grin he sprouted as I approached. His eyes wandered over me from head to toe.

Either way, the ‘Little Valyrian’ doesn’t help.

“Ahoy matey!” he boomed; “Come to join my crew, have ya?”

“Yes” I grunted; “Uh, I mean…Yes Ser I have!”

He laughed. “I’m no ser, ‘boy’” he grinned; “All men are equal on the sea, or at least most of us; Captains are another issue!” His eyes glinted. “What be your name?”

“Hoster” I replied, using the first Riverlander name that sprung to mind (I would have to apologize to Lady Catelyn later). “I’m from…Duskendale, but I’ve moved north to look for work after the war. My home was burnt and I’ve no money, but I’m some use on a ship – my uncle showed me before the Royal Fleet set him afire.”

“My condolences then, Hoster; war’s a terrible business to be sure.” He grinned at some private joke. “I be Hector Barbossa, first mate on this fine ship. Impress me and you’ll find yourself with a job, no questions asked.”

“That would be nice” I muttered; “Ahem, how might I go about impressing you then?”

If it comes down to fighting, I can probably win – even with one of my axes gone.

“That depends” smirked Barbossa, biting into an apple he had somehow retrieved from a locked crate; “How would you describe the ship you see before you?”

“It’s a galley of uh…25 oars per side, in three rows. Three sails; square and supplements, so that the ship can keep up maneuverability no matter the weather. Low set of course, but wider than usual. Judging by the ram this was built for war rather than being converted from a trading vessel; the ballistae would allow for covering fire while the ship moves to ram, plus archers can be set up on the forecastle and poop decks.”

“Impressive” Barbossa allowed; “Where would you say this ship was from?”

I pondered the question and allowed my eyes to speed over the ship, looking for a maker’s mark or a decoration or crest…damn myself for not paying more attention to Davos when he was going on about this…ah, there!

“The Arbor” I replied happily; “You can see House Redwyne’s distinctive grape pattern carved into the sides of the poop deck. Salladhor has a ship with exactly the same feature in his fleet as I recall.”

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. “Salladhor?” he said; “Now where might you have met the Prince of the Narrow Sea, Hoster?”

Shit.

“Um…” My brain raced to come up with an explanation for my slip up. “…My uncle Davros-I mean Davos has worked with the man a few times; he’s a smuggler you see and the two of them are as thick as thieves some days.” Strangely enough, most of that sentence wasn’t a lie.

I should probably check up on Davos when I have chance. Hopefully his kids no longer have the crossbow.

Barbossa took another bite out of the apple. “I’m not sure Lord Mallister would appreciate us having smugglers in our ranks, y’know.”

“He’s retired now.” That on the other hand was a complete lie.

“Heh” Barbossa leaned in, the juice of the fruit dribbling down his beard. “Tell me, how is your skill with a weapon, lad? I’ll assume that axe is not for the purposes of show?”

“I can best anyone” I replied; “Uh…nearly anyone. I’d probably have trouble against an armored knight, but where we’re going that shouldn’t be a problem.”

I’ve already killed several Ironborn wights after all. I doubt an alive one is any better at fighting.

Barbossa cackled. “You assume I am impressed!” he said; but his mouth quickly split into a grin. “Welcome aboard the Alysanne, Hoster. We sail for Pyke in an hour, so sort out any business of yours before the sun falls any further.” With our business at an end, the first mate finished his apple and rose to his feet. “I’ll see you aboard when you’re done.”

As he strolled away, the Little Valyrian chittered in the First Mate’s ear. He chuckled in response. “Oh yes, Jack” he mused, “I’m well aware of that.” The two of them continued chuckling, long after they had passed from my sight.

I hope that ‘that’ isn’t what I think it is…

I shivered. With the sun low, Seaguard looked far less inviting than it had previously. A fog had spun in from the Sunset Sea, shrouding the harbor in a deep grey cloud. Few people remained to chatter now, when the world seemed old and decrepit. The cold bit at my fingers and the burns on the back of my hands. The weight of the bracelet on my arm and the orb and stone in my satchel were heavier than before, weighing me down towards the hard ground.

In the distance a woman sobbed.

I headed up the gangplank.

----------------

The ‘Queen Alysanne’s Revenge’ bobbed unhappily in the still waters of Ironman’s Bay. The wind had dropped two days into our journey to meet up with the Lannister navy attacking Pyke, forcing us to use nothing but oars on our progress. It was a hard work to manage, especially for those of us with bound breasts; the fabric kept cutting into my chest as I pulled and shoved on the lower decks. If this had been a ship from Essos (with the exception of Braavos), the oars would have been manned by slaves brought solely for that purpose. I confess, despite frowning on slavery I would have preferred it over this torture. And I don’t say that lightly.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to have noticed my ‘chest problems’. I rarely socialized with the other crewmen, preferring to keep my own company as a precaution and only speak when necessary. I’d only spoken to the captain once, a thick haired man named Caster. Aside from that, I’d been conned into playing cards once – I had lost badly and sworn never to repeat the experience. I had talked to Barbossa several more times however. The man intrigued me for some reason, since he seemed altogether far older than what he had stated his age as. I also worried that he had deduced the truth of my identity, since he had an annoying habit of smirking whenever speaking my fake name.

Plus he was utterly insane.

“Keep pounding on those oars, y’cunts! The capt’n wants this ship moving at double the speed so hurry up!”

And a giant jackass.

Thankfully he wasn’t shouting at me this time. I was curled up in a hammock below, fuzzing over the bracelet and listening to the shouting from the upper deck. Despite my best attempts – though I confess I had little idea about what I was doing – I had been unable to get the bracelet to repeat the magic it had shown off at High Heart. I’d tried prying it apart with a dagger: no response, though the dagger was now blunt. I’d tried ‘focusing my mind’: no response, apart from a headache.

I had briefly considered that the thing was broken now, that whatever power that lived in it had fled after the Rabbit’s attack; but if so, why was the artefact still undamaged? Why was it still immune to scratch or dent? No. There was something to find in this bracelet, some answer as to the source of its power…the only question was how I would be able to discover the truth.

Chapter Text

Meanwhile in the Future: Arya, Princess of Winterfell

The Town of Green Harbour, Seat of House Stark in Blazewater Bay

Arya was bored. This in itself was not a surprise since she was a perennially bored child, but what was unusual was her failure to do anything about it. She had been sat in this stinking harbour for about an hour now, waiting for her aunt to arrive by boat. The original plan had been for her to meet Larra alongside her mother, but the Lady Stark had come down with a cold and so could not leave the warmth of the keep of Arya’s Nuncle. Technically Arya was supposed to be staying there to meet her aunt with all the ‘pomp and ceremony’ expected for the return of a Princess of the North…but that sounded so boring! And besides which, her mother would easily figure out where she was and the fishermen barely cared about a little orphan girl sitting around and watching the boats. The most difficult part of escaping the castle had been finding a maid with clothes around Arya’s size, since those of her own maid (Branda, a girl from Wintertown) were too small for her after her first and tenth nameday. Plus she also had to find a hood, since her mother’s hair was too distinctive for a place like this.

From her place sat on top of a crate, Arya could watch most of the goings on in the newest town of the North. Green Harbour had existed as a small village for several decades prior to Arya’s birth, but had been built up into a thriving port under the orders of the Lord Stark to take advantage of the increased trade in the Sunset Sea. Aside from the Glover Town at the edge of the Wolfswood, it was the most northern major port on the western coast; the final stops on a cycle that could see traders stop at Oldtown, Bandallion, Lannisport, Kayce, Banetown, Lordsport and Seaguard. Most of these ports were only small towns at present for they were less than two decades of age; but they grew by the hour – fuelled by the fires of industry and renewed trade from Essos, the Summer Islands and the Colony at Farthos. Aunt Larra was due to be arriving on a symbol of that power, a war galleon built at White Harbour that had just made its first trip around Westeros to form the beginnings of a second Northern Fleet. The galleon, which had been given the name ‘The Wolf Princess’ by House Manderly (after Arya’s elder sister Robyn, the current heir to the North since her mother had failed to carry any male children to term), was apparently one of the largest of the new breed of Westerosi ships despite not coming from the furnaces of Duskendale or New King’s Landing. It wasn’t the largest of course; that was either ‘The Durran’ or the ‘Princess Rhaenys’ depending on whether the surveyors were pro-Storm’s End or pro-Casterly Rock. Still, it was double the size of anything else in Westerosi waters and was so worth a look for that fact alone.

If only it would hurry up and get here!

Arya bit into an apple as she waited, kicking her legs and absently scratching the tattoos along her left arm with the other hand. That was another reason for her taking the time to steal a maid’s dress, as she needed one with long sleeves to hide the marks that half the realm wondered over. Calling them tattoos was somewhat inaccurate since they had been on Arya since her birth; placed there with no natural explanation. The mystery of them had perplexed even Aunt Larra, though she had spoken at length to Arya’s father about her suspicions – though Arya had never been allowed to listen in, which was utterly infuriating. It was her body! They couldn’t even justify it as ‘only those who must know shall know’ since she was pretty sure both her Uncle and elder sister had been brought into the conspiracy. And neither of them would tell Arya anything either, as she was ‘too young’. Fucking Bullfucks!

Without outside help, Arya had been reduced to reading to find the information that she sought. That was enough to put her off education for eternity, especially when every book in the library turned out to be useless! And considering that the castle library had been recently expanded along with the rest of Winterfell, well…

A few sparks of the purple fire danced along Arya’s fingertips. She quickly plunged her hands into the pockets of the dress, before taking several long calming breaths. A meltdown in the harbour was the last thing she needed. One of the fishermen might tell mother! That was another thing that was special about her tattoos. If she focused enough, Arya could project magic from the hand bearing the marks – magic! Streaks of purple fire and lightning that danced upon invisible ropes from her digits when she focused hard enough (or got angry enough, hem hem). Despite her best attempts she had been unable to truly control her magic – or at least as a weapon, she could heal herself and others fine. Maester Luwin had been the one to advice teaching her healing, since he was a bore and so was her father. ‘A Lady should not have to kill, Arya’ – Bullfuck! They let Aunt Larra kill things!... Though admittedly…she was barely in Winterfell and had enough blackmail to get everyone doing exactly as she wished.

It was still totally unfair!

The sound of a ship’s horn startled Arya away from her inner annoyance. She looked up from the apple in pure excitement…and up…and up some more…until finally her eyes located the bowsprit of the galleon sailing into the harbour with the majesty of the Old Gods themselves! ‘The Wolf Princess’ dwarfed everything else in the harbour by what seemed like a mile in height and length. Its iron and timber sides shone like mighty plate armour in the midday sun, but unlike a knight’s armour it was dotted with hatches; each open to reveal one of the mighty ‘cannons’ which could doubtless fire at a moment’s notice. It had been ships like the one before Arya that had reforged Westeros after the destruction of the Mad Prince’s War; mighty war galleons that extinguished piracy in the Narrow Sea and the Iron Islands forever and gave the reborn kingdoms enough power to prevent their dominance by the Free Cities of Essos. Of course, some of the cities such as Myr, Volantis and Braavos had managed to build their own warships in the time since Rhaegar’s death, but that time had not protected them from the continuing advances in the south. She had seen one of those advances in her uncle’s keep last night, a mighty ‘gun’ he named as a Thunderstriker.

But Arya didn’t care for these advances. …Okay that was a complete lie, but she didn’t care just this minute! She was scanning the ship frantically, looking for a tell-tale leather jerkin – there! Aunt Larra was leaning against one of the ship’s railings, brown hair flying in the sea wind despite her braid and one ruined eye hidden behind a distinctive eyepatch. Arya’s mother had mentioned – with some jealousy – that she didn’t look a day over twenty, though Arya herself thought she looked to be the eldest out of the Stark siblings due to her eyes. She hadn’t noticed Arya yet, but she would soon enough.

And perhaps this time, she might deign to take Arya along with her on her next adventure!

Chapter Text

Interlude: Of Darkness

Gregor wheezed from exertion as he painfully wheeled the latest of his Lord’s monstrosities into the Great Hall of the Dun Fort. Under his fingers the metal was boiling; every second of contact between him and the ‘firestick’ felt like a blow from a scalding iron, or the steam his brother had run afoul of three moons past. Already they had blackened his hands beyond recognition, as the coal and smoke did the same for the rest of him. He looked nothing like the man he had been before, even his mother would not have recognised him if he stood before her, Seven bless her heart. His fellow servants all looked the same, as did most inhabitants of the town since the construction of the accursed ‘factories’. The exception of course was Lord Jaremy Rykker, who was looking less like a demon and more like a shrivelled fruit. The smoke had gone into his and his brother’s beards admittedly, but rather than looking dark their skin had grown pale – too pale.

Gregor knew that there was something off about them since the turn of the year and about that ‘Ratholares’ character as well. The bird on the Spymaster’s shoulder gave him the creeps; it was definitely not some ordinary pigeon or raven. It’s black eyes knew far too much for his liking and he would swear that it understood the discussions that happened under it’s nose. He didn’t speak up though; for he was frightened of suffering the same mysterious fate as the Dun Fort’s septon. The man had according to his wife Marin, vanished shortly after a fierce argument with the brothers. His body had not been found, even by the search parties sent out with immense disinterest by Lord Rykker. Gregor doubted that there was a body to be found personally, for he had noticed the reverence that the brothers – along with much of the household worryingly enough – had taken to treating an open flame with. That went double for the one kept inside the forsaken Sept, which his wife said they visited every night without fail. Gregor wondered what was so special about that specific flame, but he did not ask for he was afraid of the consequences and even more afraid of what might be the answer.

But he was sure that it was all unnatural and he was sure they had turned away from the Light of the Seven. A braver man would have done something in response to that certainty; but Gregor was not a brave name and he was frightened of the dark.