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Chapter Text

Prologue

 

I woke up in the middle of a fire. Thick clouds of smoke threatened to choke me and the unbearable heat that surrounded me from everywhere made me dizzy. I knew I would die, but I did not want this to happen right now. I didn’t want to melt into the inferno of screams, red flames and ashes, which had already swallowed the entire city.

 

I got up from the ground and I ran as fast as I can. Hot tears ran down my face and that damned smoke threatens to completely take over me. I stepped on something soft that groaned and then I felt for the thousandth time this day that the sky fall over me. That something was a living person, a man with eyes that begged me for help, his burned lips forming a desperately request to me, to whatever god that has turned against us. I cursed the day when the demon of fire that ruled these lands sent me on earth and I ran. I ran from the screams of a dying man, I ran from the house in which I lived 16 years, I ran and I hoped that we still had a chance.

 

The white marble streets of my town melted under the heat that seemed to pulsate inhuman in all beings. “This road is blocked”, I thought. If I can’t reach the stables, I was as good as dead. If the dragons were melted in this hell, what chance had we, simple humans? What will become of the proud warriors with the blood of the dragon flowing through their veins? How do we defend ourselves from something that yesterday was our way to happiness, the force that put us above the world?

 

Dragons are our last hope, I thought feverishly. We can ride above the inferno, we can escape this hell, on all the gods of fire and eternal ice, we can drown in the sea water and we can go down to an abyss in which your soul didn’t burn. I turned down a side street, paved with stone and I ran to the stables outside the city. There were kept the sick dragons, those who were too young or too old for riding. If I was lucky, I could take Aurum and get out of here. Aurum was my 2 year old dragon, which was as skeletal as me, who was my wings and fire, and now, my only hope.

 

I arrived at the gates and I froze. The dragons were yelling, spitting fire and killing any creature that was around them. I watched as the previous owners of the dragons were burn alive by the fire of their own dragons. Crying hysterically I ran into the flames and I called my dragon.

 

"Aurum", my voice was hoarse with tears and despair and it was nothing but a whisper besides the general noise. A single wing dragon crawled towards me. I started yelling for help but nobody was interested in my salvation.

 

"Stop," I yelled with all the strength left. The beast looked at me with eyes of liquid fire and I felt my blood pressure drop. "Stop, aegrotus, stop, antiquus animus" I yelled in the ancient language of my people. The dragon stopped and looked at me uncertainly. The wildness inside him wanted me dead, but spells of obedience millennium old, spells that were thrown by my people on the fire and those born from it, prevented him from hurting me.

 

Can I stop this apocalyptic fire with my spells? I looked around for another lux, but apparently I was the only one. Of course, I was not a full lux, but I was strong. I knew it, I could get out of here.

 

“Aurum, respondeo! Relinquo metus, vocebam Aurum, vinco unda ab ignis, vinco pugnans!”, I cried and suddenly, two eyes like molten gold appeared before me. I smiled relieved. I rode on Aurum and I urged him to go higher and higher, as far away as we can go from blood, fire and death.

 

                                                        *

                                                     *     *

 

"Do not look down," I thought while I urge my dragon to fly higher. The sky was red because of the flames and then I realized. No matter how hard I tried, I can’t get out of this nightmare now. The gods wanted us dead and no mortal could oppose the Them. I was going to give them my death, my dragons but not my powers.

 

 To kill myself and wait for my spells to wake me up was the only way to survive. It was a frail chance. I knew it was considered a sin to resist the supreme gods of death, but others have done it before and I was not going to let this opportunity to slip through my fingers. I took my dagger made of Valyrian steel and I stuck it deeply into my dragon eye. A howl of grief and betrayal rip the sky. "Worth it," I said, and removing what was left of the blade, I stuck it firmly into my chest. Warm blood flowed from the wound and with it, all my vital force. I felt a metallic taste in my mouth and before I can say anything else, a farewell to the world that created me and now asked for my life, blood gushed on my mouth and my vision went dark. The last was the taste of blood, the last sounds were the tortured screams coming from the sons of fire, the last thing I saw was death that rushed to take my soul ...

 

“De igne natus,

      Ego bibit meum sanguinem,

Osculum mortem,

      Quin ego non dixit…

Nam lux mea exit

      Paulo vitam subito excussum

Deos mortem, deos ignis,

      Manet in corpore virtus mea compede!”

 

And I fell. I drowned in my own blood. I died a thousand times but I never stopped falling ...

Chapter Text

Aerys

 

 

Aerys Targaryen looked at his victim and smiled. Nobody stood against the king and get away with it. Never!

 

With a graceful gesture of his hand, the king ordered the reddish flames to knit the prisoner. Just like the loving fingers of a lover, the tongues of fire began to caress him with their heat, to fondle his white skin with their destructive power. Slowly, the king  raised his hand higher, leaving the flames to play with their prey, giving them a little taste of what they were promised to have after the show. Because this execution was nothing more than a show to make the king happy. Everything was for the pleasure of the king: the flames, the screams, the blood…

 

Aerys bared his teeth in a predatory grin and brought his fingers in fist. The flames rushed to the prisoner, biting, whipping him with their relentless heat. The maniac laughter of the last dragon echoed throughout the room, reverberating in frightening echoes. Yes, he must learn to suffer, to cry for his crimes, to prostrate in front of the one true King of Westeros, to humiliate and beg for the royal forgiveness.

 

“Tywin Lannister, King of the Seven Kingdoms”, tasted Aerys the words. “Sounds pathetic, does not it? A poor servant of the dragon wants to reign on the throne of his master. Never will the lion take the dragons place, NEVER!”, howled the king full of venom. The flames lifted to the ceiling making the Lord of Casterly Rock to release a pained roar. His skin melted like ice in front of the relentless sun. Aerys looked at his victim excited and smirked. He was the sun of the kingdom, lightning for the enemies, warm, harmless fire to the faithful ones. If they please him, he will reward them with warmth and light, but if they rebel, well, the king slowly began to laugh, well, he will take care to burn each piece of flesh of that traitor.

 

The Lord of the dragons licked his thin lips languidly trying in vain to calm his excited body. The agony of the lion was bringing him unexpected pleasures. With one last contemptuous look, Aerys Targaryen commanded the fire to swallow the traitor Lord.

 

A wave of pleasure ran through him when he saw the lion king dying  on the flames. Those cold and calculated eyes will never  look at him with hidden disdain, those thin lips will never speak contemptuous words to him ever!

 

                                                       *

 

 Cold sweat trickled on the hot skin of the king. Aerys close his eyelids and let go to a shaky breath. Why could not his dreams with  blood and fire  come true? Why could not he crush his real enemies as effective as those from his dreams?

 

"The dragon is not afraid of anything," said Aerys to himself. In the light of the day he was nothing more than a shadow of the mighty dragon Lord from his dreams. In this cruel reality Aerys did not control the flames and Tywin Lannister do not cower in the face of the king. Here, his own people looked at him disdain and pity, yes pity! They looked at the old man with scared and feverish eyes, with a slim silhouette and quivering voice and think poorly of him. Aerys know what others think of him, but for the sake of his sanity he liked to pretend that the dragon Lord of his dream rule the kingdom instead of his pathetic self. But this was not true and the king knew it very well.

 

With a last wheezing breath, the king rose from the bed and called his the servants to prepare him for a new day. Mirrors were something to be avoided  these days because of his bad appearance, slides were to be avoided because of his paranoia, food tasters had to taste from everything before he could begin to eat, people must to be checked against any weapons they could use to attempt to murder the king and the list goes on forever ...

 

Aerys sighed thinking about the isolation in which he lived, isolation designed to protect him from the death but which scared him more than it. Death means an eternity of darkness and loneliness, an eternity that bend to none of the laws of man.

 

He was afraid! The king would not have admitted to anyone, but he could not lie to himself. His whole life had been a series of failed ambitions, shattered dreams and unrequited love. He was raised in the shadow of a king and then he was given a cursed crown. He wanted to make changes, to prove that the Targaryen kings are the best rulers from all Weserors... And you know what he did instead? He gave the lion  almost unlimited power, he humbled himself in the Defiance of Duskendale and was still married with Rhaella.

 

With a resigned sigh, he head to the royal throne room to receive the complaints of his people. Normally that bitch of Tywin handle it, but today he was in mourning and prayed the king to keep his place. "Well, he didn’t say it like that", think the kink mischievous. "If he did, I would have to show him his place!" ”What could you do? ",ask a wicked voice. "I would have to kill him with blood and fire!" Aerys began to be nervous. The king hate this voices, but since Duskendale, they come after him everywhere. "Maybe I am crazy" think Aerys amused. "Maybe I should give my son all the power and give up to all this madness" he joke in his mind. Like the rightful king of Westeros would give the perfect prince what was his. Aerys   flinched at the thought. Rhaegar was too perfect, too loved from the lords and normal people alike, too modest, too handsome,  too charismatic for his own good. "It is normal for a father to hate his own son?" The king asked himself. Even if the answer would be yes, he would not be able to like that little whining boy. On his list with the most hated people, his son have the second place, right after that annoying Tywin , but over his wife.

 

As he thinks of Rhaella , he should pay her a visit. "Not her, Viserys’", think the king with an affectionate smile. His little son was only three years, but you could see that he would resemble his father. "Not like that git of his brother" ...

 

“Good morning”, says the king while entering his wife’s chambers. Rhaella looked up from her breakfast and began to study him.

 

“My lord”, she whispered, her voice trembling.

 

The king raises an eyebrow questioningly and began to look around the room for after people. His wife considered a sacred duty to make  herself to look like a martyr in the faces of others and to make him look like the devil. Not that Aerys had always been gentle or decent or even human   in some of the situations in which they were both involved, but his sister had an extraordinary talent to make him lost his temper. She had such a superior attitude that the king wants nothing more than to choke her. "I tried that already and it ended deplorable", Aerys think remembering the day he was ready to strangle his wife. He was almost ready but suddenly his damn conscience awoke to life and prevents him do it.  The Seven be witnesses that he regret that decision every day.

 

“My lady, can I bring you something else?”, ask a maid who was hidden from the king by a thick curtain.

 

“You can go”, growled the king. "Bitch," he thought ", she wouldn’t want to waste her precious talents on a stage without spectators."

 

“My Lord, something happened”, said his wife with a concerned  look  and a shadow of fear in her purple eyes.

 

“I just thought that you are a big hypocrite and one of the biggest mistakes of my life was that I did not kill you when I had the chance”, said the king with a smile. “Where is my son?”

 

“ In the training yard, my lord”.

 

“Not that son, sister”, growled the king.

 

“With Lord Tywin, brother…”

 

“What is Viserys doing with that bastard?”

 

“Language…”

 

“I am the king…”

 

“You speak like a tramp…”

 

“Nudnik shrew!”

 

“Aerys”, she cried indignant.

 

“Fine, fine”, mumbled the king.

 

“I'm sorry that I hurt your nonexistent honor . Now, tell me where my son is  ... “

 

“I already told you”, Rhaella replied innocently.

 

“And I've told you a thousand times that the imp is not my son”.

 

“ Really? Because I heard he has the same degenerate sense of humor and you can’t deny that there is a striking similarity in your appearance.... “

 

“Enough”, yelled Aerys and knocked his fist on the table. How his sister has come with the idea that the dwarf was his son, was beyond his comprehension. Though, he should not be shocked, since everything bad in the kingdom have a direct connection with him in his sister opinion.

 

“Daddy, what are you doing here?”, asked a squeaky voice from the door. Aerys turned and smiled blissful. A little boy about three years old with shaggy silver hair and smiling eyes watched him from the doorway.

“Your Grace, shouldn’t you be in the throne room?, asked another melodious voice.

 

“Mmhm”, growled the king something incomprehensible while taking Viserys in his arms. "Good thing he didn’t sing me the question", think Aerys with rancor.

 

“Majesty, we should leave if we don’t want the crowd to stir in our absence”, added Rhaegar while looking toward the door where the Grand Master, the Spider, and three of the King's Guard waited impatiently.

 

“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that! Can you sing it for me? Can you creak with your violin simultaneously? “

 

“It is a harp”, whispered Rhaegar bored with his father’s antics.

 

“Aerys”, screamed his sister indignantly. The king raised his eyebrows questioningly while Rhaella throws him a look full of venom.

 

“Take care sister, you wouldn’t want to blow the lid off your acting” , whispered the king with a conspiratorial voice. With a sigh he  kissed his little son on the forehead, throw a last amused look to his wife and start walking to the throne room, to a day full of silly and unnecessary complaints.

  

Chapter Text

Cap 3

 

While the pain is all you can remember, seconds turn into years, and minutes in centuries. An eternity of agony in which you beg for the gods mercy, in which you are crying your sins, your pride, your ambitions, and admit that you're nothing more than a tool in the hands of the creators, a puppet dancing an already planned life.

 

You beg for the death from which you have run from your entire life. You stop seeing it as a punishment but as a release from hell. Tears burn down your cheeks and you can’t breathe anything but fire. You open your mouth to scream your pain and despair but all that comes out is a feeble moan, a moan just as frail as your hope for salvation is. From what someday was a proud and haughty spirit which could command the fires, hasn’t remained but a mere shadow that begs for divine mercy.

 

How many times has she cursed her own stubbornness, how many times has she deplored her pride? How could a mere mortal to believe himself over the gods? How could that soul believe that he can extricate himself from the one and only undeniable force in the world, the death?

“How could I throw myself into an eternity of agony and regrets?”

 

Silence. In a world where so far was only pain, a thought fostered.  There are glimpses of a conscience that awakes to life. The cruelty of the gods is forgotten and a burning desire to be, bursts from the dark abyss where the poor soul was lost for so long. Fears are forgotten, forgotten is the agony! All that remained was the will to wake up.

 

The vanity, the need for power, the hunger for control, the desires and the hate, they all wake up from their long sleep and start to push the soul to the world of living ones.

 

                                                                                 ***

 

My first attempt to breath was extremely painful. My lungs were on fire and my throat was so dry that the mere presence of air was enough to bring tears to my eyes. Trying to make some sense from this completely chaos, I tried to get up but I failed miserably. My whole world was in a blur. In shades of grey and red, the things around me were still dancing around my eyes.

 

When my vision had finally cleared I gasped. What was in front me was not my city, hell, you can’t even say that the landscape was a believable one. Where a long time ago, the silver rivers and ancient forests of Valyria were standing proud, now was a red, dead desert. Red and green flames were trying to touch the big, black clouds, the wind was crying the fall of a mighty empire and the shadows were roaring and screaming their despair. Everything that was growing under that reddish son and black, toxic clouds made of dark magic, was dying and suffering.

 

The only one. With despair I realized that I was the only one that had survived the doom. I was scared, alone and weak. I had just woke up from a 300 years come, sleep, death… whatever that horrible thing was, and now I was confronted with the death of my entire world. My family was gone, my friends, my teachers, my dragon and my life had ended when I spoke the words of the curse.

 

But I refused to give up so easily! I was the one that conquered death, I was the one that had tricked the only force in the world that bend to nobody. Glaring at the things around me, I get up and called for my magic. Concentrated, I start to mumble an incantation that was supposed to take me away from there. I started to put more and more magic in the spell, not being able to see or hear nothing from the outside world…

 

“Arghhh” something yelled behind me. With my heart sinking, I turned around watched with horror how a weird looking dragon roared his fury to me. Annoyed be the disturbance, I said the necessary spell for killing the dragon, and I started to say the transporting spell. It had never occurred to me that all the dragons were clearly dead and that the creature standing before was not an ordinary dragon. Nope. Never had I thought about it.

 

Avoiding the fire be mere millimeters, I stared dumbly at the creature. This was not normal, no, he… it must be dead! The curse never fails! I had done it before and…and… I barely avoided the fire once again.

 

 Throwing one last glance at the zombie-dragon, I begun to run for my dear life. Conjuring a magic shield around me, I began to draw the necessary runes for the Tenebris Maledicite.

 

“Ignis est servus meus, umbra scutum meum, ferrum lucis aeternae obruat rumperet”, I yelled with all my strength. If the creature was a one belonging to the light, the course wouldn’t have bothered him  more than a light pinch, but because this… thing was clearly a dark one, the curse had crushed it into oblivion. With wonder, I watched as the creature started to yell and burn with a green flame. Smirking, I looked at the black bones and rotted meat. Yes, I thought, my powers are still working. Then why…?

 

My question had completely flown from my mind when I noticed the changes around me. The wind was so thick with black magic that I could hardly breath and the flames and shadows that were all around me begun to crawl to the place where I was standing. It was like all the nature was concentrating its strength to attack me. And then I realized. This magic, this strange force that was giving life to all the creatures, including that dragon, well, that force was coming straight from the island. I was fighting Valyria!

 

Thinking frantically of a way out, I prayed to all the gods to not kill me right now.

 

“Tempus est fluvius, et ego in eo natare. Volitans in aere, et locus eius. Terrae, aeris, aquae et ignis et notoriae vocat me, ut mihi”. My magic filled me with a white light and all the darkness was gone. A strong feeling of nausea overcame me and I was feeling as if I was cut into a million parts.“ Please, gods, let just a house of light to be still standing in the colonies”, and with that last pray to an unknown god I fall into an abyss.

Chapter Text

Rhaegar

 

A day like any other day. Ordinary. The knights were fighting in the training yard, the servants were running silently along the halls and the nobles were talking with low voices about what’s new and interesting. Everybody in the Great Hall was expecting the King.

 

The air was full of agitation and loud noises. Lords and common people, they had come to request the king’s justice. Usually, the King’s Hand hears the pleas, but today he was morning his dead wife.

 

It was a long time since the King came to the Hall to hear the requests himself. Everybody has heard the whispers about the His Highness’ sanity, but nobody wanted to test the rumors.

 

The Great Hall’s doors opened to reveal the King, the Crown Prince and some of the Kingsguard. A general gasp was heard in the Hall.  Albeit the Aerys was just 34 years old, he looked like an old, sick man. His pupils were dilated and they have a feverish glow to them. His hair was already white, but not the characteristically silver blond color so specific to his family, instead it was a plain white like every other old man from his kingdom had. His skin was like parchment, yellowish and corrugated, and his face was half hidden behind a long beard.

 

Prince Rhaegar knew that his father was not a handsome man anymore, but this…thing that he became was horrible. Lord Lannister was truly looking more like a king, than the King himself.  Sighing to himself, the Prince took his seat behind the King and began to listen to complains.

 

The first one who had the courage to ask for the King’s justice was an old man dressed like a sailor.

 

“Your Grace, I was nearly killed last night. My son and my traitorous wife tried to kill me in my sleep in order to steel all my money. I’m a poor man, Your Highness, and all my life I worked as a sailor, Gods know that I have very few money saved for my black days. I give them everything they needed, my King, but they were greedy and wanted to take the little I have to spend on petty things. And it’s not the fact that they wanted to rob me! No, my King, I’ll have never bothered You with that, but they wanted to kill me! Me, their savior and their protector! Me, who has skipped my meals to give them something to eat. Me, who was starving on my trips in order to afford to send them money for food! Oh, Your Grace, I have sacrifice myself for their good….”, the man kept wailing about the injustice of his life, when the King raised a hand, asking for silence.

 

“Where are the culprits?”, asked the King in a collected tone.

 

An old, gaunt woman and a small, underfed child came from the crowd. They stood there sacred and unsure about their future.

 

Rhaegar’s heart melted before that sight. It was oblivious that the old sailor was lying, but why? What could he gain from the imprisoned of the two? It was clear as daylight that neither the small, skinny woman nor the meager child could have done anything to the man, than what…

 

“Do you have any witness?”, asked Aerys.

 

“Yes, yes of course, my Lord!”. Two City guards came into the view and began to told the King that while they were doing their patrols, they heard screams and therefor go in to that house. Arriving at the respective place, they saw the sailor unconscious on the floor. They began to question the woman and the child, but the two refused to talk. At this point in the story, the women furrowed her brow and raised her eyes shyly to look at the King. Rhaegar was about to ask his father to pay attention to her when Aerys ordered tot the other witnesses to come forward.

 

After another witnesses, Prince Rhaegar was not so sure about the innocence off the two. All the facts proved the other way. The neighbor said that the two husbands often fight about the money, that the women was a greedy person and that the child was a little pickpocket.  The shopkeeper said that the women was always in debt and that her husband always pays her arrear.

 

Aerys looks at his son and opened his mouth to ask him something. Rhaegar leaned forward ready to tell his opinion about the crime. In the last moment, the King changed his mind and began to pronounce the sentence:

 

“For the crime of attempting to kill and rob his husband, you…” and the King indicated the women “ …will be punished with…” Aerys stayed a little to think about the punishment. His eyes fell on Rhaegar, who was looking angry at his father. When the prince saw that his father eyes were on him, he prepared to say something to defend the women.

 

With a thin and mean smile on his lips, Aerys raised his hand to silence his son. “… death…” Ignoring the gasp and the protesting murmurs of the Hall, he began to laugh silently and whispered with pure hate “… by burning at the stake!”

 

Rhaegar cursed and walked towards his father, who was laughing lauder now, with a maniac edge in his voice. Coming close to the throne, he heard his father whispering harsh commands : “ Kill them. They disobeyed the law, they disobeyed the king. Kill Them! Kill them! Burn the traitors!” 

 

The King red eyes fall on his form and the prince saw with horror how his father eyes filled with joy at sight of his terrified self.

 

“Lord Lannister was right!”, thought Rhaegar desperate. “ My father is crazy”. Throwing at the laughing man from the throne one last disgusted glance, Rhaegar started to yell commands at the guards to stop their activities. A strong hand caught him from behind.

 

“Stop it, Rhaegar!” whispered Ser Arthur Dayne. “It’s your authority against the King’s! You don’t want to provoke your father further, do you?”

 

“And what am I supposed to do? Stay and watch as an innocent women is burned alive for a crime that we are not even sure that has taken place as we were told? Lord Lannister would never…”

 

“Shut up with the Lion! It’s clearly as daylight that your father didn’t ordered the death of this women because he considered her truly guilty! He thought of your mother, Rhaegar! He thought that you will need a reminder of what happened to traitors…”

 

“Why me?” asked Rhaeger in a hysterical voice. Looking at the screaming women that was dragged towards a newly build stake, the prince tried to pull himself free from Arthur’s iron grip. “Let me go! For the sake of the seven! He is going to burn the poor women for nothing! I can’t let that happen! I can’t let an innocent women die for my father craziness!...”

 

“Your father is the King! The one and only! And you are his son and a Prince! So stop acting like a traitor if you don’t want your father to accuse you for rebellion!”

 

“God dammit, Rhaegar” barked the knight to the struggling prince. “Pay attention! It’s you or her! Let him burn her if that means that you’ll keep your head on your shoulders!”

 

Rhaegar stopped and looked helplessly as the women was mounted on the stake. The guards pour a substance on the wood and the stake erupted in green flames.

 

By now the Hall was stunned in a terrified silence. The eyes of the watchers were dancing between the screaming women and the laughing King.

 

“Mad! The King is Mad!” whispered the people in a horrified woner. The Grand Master was looking rather sick and the other Kingguards were looking like they were having an inside battle between the desire to help the women and the thought that they were sweared to the King.

 

Rhaegar stood there with the rest of them, looking at the dying women. This was the first day of terror of the true reign of Aerys Targaryen, the Mad King. He watched helpless how her body was eaten by the flames. He heared his father’s insane laughter echoing towards the Hall and everything that Rhaegar could think about was that this was a nightmare of fire and blood came true. And the only one that was pleased by it was King Aerys himself.

Chapter Text

A/N: I do not own the ASOIAF universe, I’m just borrowing some characters and events to play with…

 

 

                                              Deus Mortuus

 

    I woke up on the hard floor of one of the temples from outside of Valyria. Thanking the gods for my incredible luck, I tried to stand up but eventually I failed miserably and decided to stay still a little and just think. Of what? Of the way all of my life was upside down and I have no idea what to do next. I’m an intelligent girl and if I know the rules of the play I can easily beat the others players. I’m cunning, ambitious and cold-blooded. I feel no remorse regarding my actions while they lead me to my purpose. My mentors always said that I’m a natural talent, that they had never seen such a powerful witch and that my powers are meant for making the world a better place. Their words, not mine.

But, you see, I always had cared more about myself, about my self-preservation rather than the others health and happiness. Some old friends of mine once told me that if I were an animal, I would definitely be a dragon. I had always felt smug about that, thinking that they wanted to tell me that I’m the most worthy, but with time I finally understand what they told me this.

I’m cruel, like a dragon and just like this beast I destroy everything in my way when I want to accomplish something. I hurt and kill other people with no remorse because I consider myself above them, just how the dragon consider himself above all the rest of us. I have incredible powers and I do not contain myself in using them even in the most horrible circumstances. I held no affection for my family, I care not for my teachers and the servants are nothing than scum and filth for me. Everybody in considered a mean to an end and everyone value is measured in how useful they are to me. By all means, I treasure my belongings. I’m possessive and jealous and my interest once awoken is fast transforming into obsession.

I know that I’m not perfect, not at all. But I’m a Targaryen and my family prides itself with our resemblance to the dragons.

Maybe because of that, I felt nothing but pride and satisfaction regarding my well done ritual. This tiny pang in my chest, have nothing to do with guilt, that’s for sure. My heart isn’t aching for my family and the horrible images with dead souls bleeding and begging for salvation are not haunting me. Not at all.

Thinking back at how I tricked death, I let myself to be drawn in my own pride. I did it. The ritual was a very ancient one and for a long time it was considered just a myth. I first heard about it in a children’s story and I became curious about this ritual so powerful than can trick death. Years and years of learning, searching and yearning were well paid for. It never occurred to me to think about the aftermaths or to pay attention to the state of the people which were involved in the ritual. I only thought about me. And now when I finally saw how my dark spells affected the souls, I can’t stop myself to feel a little sorry for them.

I still remember the paragraph where was written the negative sides of the ritual, which were many if you wonder. First, to be able to perform the ritual you must be sure that this is what you really want. If the magic has even the slightest hesitation, you would be killed in the process. Second you must to do a sacrifice, a very big one. Hundreds and thousands of people must die and you must feel no remorse over their death. It would be perfect if you could keep your head clear and your thoughts in order, but how I discovered, you can manage to do it even if you’re hysterical and half-crazy with fear. The next step requires you to say the incantation. This is exactly were all the books and runes are stopping. They give no clue regarding the language you must use, about the worlds, the length, the rhythm and all the others things that are essentially in the process of creating a new spell. But I manage to create my own version and it had worked just fine.

However, the things that I did not pay attention were the repercussions. I chose to ignore the small details about the state of the people after the ritual was done. Now I remember why I chose to ignore and forget that small detail. It was said that it is necessary so much raw power in making the ritual that only one kind of magic could offer you the necessary strength. The human soul is bond to this body by a special kind of force. This unusual force is meant to mend the soul, the conscious of a human being to its body. This force leaves us when we die. The ritual uses this exact force to bind the powers and the soul of the caster to its carnal body. Being bond, the soul can feel everything the body feels in the interval in which the soul is not in the body. Another very important part of the ritual is that you are allowed to keep your powers intact. Because of the known fact that just valyrian citizen can became lux’, it is clear that your powers are bond not just to your soul, this being the unique part of a human, but to your carnal body too. So, this incredible ritual keeps your body intact and when the time comes, you are united with your flesh and blood.

The down side? You had stolen hundreds of people forces, so they are trapped on this realm as long as you live. And because I hadn’t gotten a sudden death wish when I saw the miserable state of the poor souls, I will continue to live my life as nothing had happened.

Well, I can’t do exactly that, but I can try to ignore the atrocities I had done and go with the wind. Preferably somewhere safe.

 

                                                               ***

 

“Don’t forget girls! Your family is the most precious thing in the world. You must protect and work hard in the benefit of the family!”

Two young girls were sitting on a beautiful worked bench while an older looking man was walking in front of them. Her sister Daenys and she were listening carefully. Or so their father thought. While his younger daughter had her beautiful, violet, dreamy eyes fixed on his figure, his other daughter was trying to distract herself with moving the stones with her mind. Her little sister sensed her distraction and elbowed her hard. With a surprised yelp, the older daughter fixed her burning eyes on the little innocent looking girl. Muttering something under her breath, she set the Daeny’s skirt on fire.

“Girls!”, shouted the impatient man.

Both looked reluctantly at their father.

“She sta’ted, dad! I swea’ on my powe’s!”, said the older one with a slight grin around her lips.

“Saelyris, what had I told you about lying?” asked her father with a stern face. “Say sorry to your sister!”

“So’y” mumbled Saelyris trying to avoid her sister’s bright eyes. Scowling, she started muttering strange things under her breath once again.

“Aenar, where are you?” scoffing at his wife’s voice, the man looked at a beautiful woman with cold, bored eyes. Arching an elegant, blond eyebrow, he waited for her to speak.

At their mother intrusion, both girls looked hopefully at her. She was their only chance at escaping the speech their father would start to tell them once again when she would be gone.

“I talked with Daeytaery. He said that is highly impossible for our little girl to be a lux, but if we are truly blessed, our entire family would start to show signs of magic. He said that once the gift was awoken in one of us, some sort of trigger would be pulled and all the relatives in the same generation and after the lux will have access to magic.”, finished the beautiful woman with a slight blush creeping on her face. Biting her lip, she waited eagerly for her husband’s respond.

 

“Fine. We shall take Saelyris to the temple and see what they say…”

“I’ go to the temp’e? When? Can we go? Can we? Pease, mothe’? Father? “, begged the little girl.

At just five years old, Saelyris was a very strange girl and her parents were starting to get impatient with her weirdness. Of course they loved her, or so they are trying to convince themselves, but it is very hard to accept and love a child who can set you on fire at every moment. This and the fact that Saelyris was somehow arrogant to them, as much as a five years old can be, was driving his father crazy.

Gritting his teeth at his daughter delighted reaction, Aenar Targaryen tried to compose himself. It would very good if his daughter would be a lux. Think at all the benefits this status would bring them and more important, the absence of Saelyris. Such an annoying child was better far away and if the family was gaining something from that, much better!

Smirking at his girl, he grabbed her hand with more force than was necessary and started to drag the little girl towards her room with the intention of locking her there until the next day when they would go to meet with Daeytaery.

 

                                                        ***

 

 

Waking up from my nightmare, I tried to regain my composure. I hadn’t the privilege to cry and break. I was alone and I was the only person who can take care of me. Feeling much better than before my trip, I decide it’s time to find more about this strange world.

Back to reality. I pushed myself up and walked towards the exit. Taking a deep breath of fresh air, I let a small smile to curb my lips. Alive! I was alive I intended to live my life!

Following a path full with grass and others herbs, I studied the trees and small animals that where around. I had never left Valyria, but I had learned something about all the others colonies. I knew that Qohor has many forests and that Norvos is composed of two parts: one atop a high hill and the other beside a low river. Myr is a coastal city and the southernmost of the colonies and Volantis is situated near the Slaver's Bay. How I said I knew a little about all of them, even about Braavos, the secret refuge from Valyrian expansion.

I started to smell the salty water of the sea and Qohor and Norvos were instantly stretched from my list. Nearer the city I could see that the city is dominated by an architecture of square brick towers and I knew that I landed in Pentos. Not the ideal destination, but I could manage. Hearing the loud voices of the people waiting at the gates, I felt my heart beating crazily against my ribcage. I knew that I was grinning like an idiot, but the poor and filthy men were the first I had seen since the Doom. 

As the curious stares were changing into disgusted ones, I remembered that my appearance was not better than theirs, so with a flick of my hand and a short incantation, an illusion made my dress and robes appear like new. Quite pleased with how I looked, I started to go to the front gates when a brute put himself between me and city entrance.

“Yes?”, I asked with what I thought was a nice and polite voice.

“Where’ ya’ think ya’ goin’? Stay in tha’ line and pay ya’ entrance! What do ya’ think? That we let filth like ya’ in tha’ city for free? Stupid wench!”

I felt my blood beginning to boil and fearing that my temper will get the better of me, I put once again a polite smile and I added in a sweet voice:

“Would you be so sweet and let me in. I’m … late”, I whispered and next a quiet spell was muttered.

The guard became confused, but bowed nevertheless and let me into the city. The rest of the people started to shout indecent insults at me and I could not help myself from grinning.

After two incredibly long hours of interrogating the locals and stealing food, I found myself in front of a very big… ship. Whatever, as long as the monstrosity build from wood was floating and taking me to my destination, I was disposed to give it a try.

 A quick spell after, I was comfortably seated in one of the most decent rooms, berths or however they call it, from the ship. It was going to take me to Braavos where I intended to have a little talk with one of the Faceless Man. They own me, so they would be able to give me the information I seek in the most organized and reliable way. Why was I bound to navigate? Because I don’t know if Braavos has a Temple of Light, somehow I doubt it, and even if I could transport myself there, I was not so sure that it was at a decent distance from the city. So I choose the safe way. A free trip with a monstrosity made of wood.

 

                                                              ***

 

I stirred from my sleep as a screeching noise came to my ears. At the beginning, it sounded like some sort of whining but when it’s volume increased, I figure it out.

A horrible fear started to poses me so I tried in vain to relax and to say the incantation required to keep a dead soul away from you. But my voice was trembling and my breath came ragged and quick so I felt like I was going to asphyxiate. The cries and screams were unbearable and when I started to think that I might get crazy, a slim shadow slipped into my chamber.

Whispering please and curses, I scrambled to the furthest corner from my room. One by one, the shadows began to take human form and I whimpered terrified.

“You…”, croaked one of the shadows.

“Murderer! Murderer! MURDERER!” shrieked all of them.

“Sssilence…” hissed the same authoritative voice. The rest of them continued to hiss and scream but after some time their voices died.

Pleased with their silence, the mighty shadow dragged itself near me and two pitch black eyes bore into my soul.

“Sssaelyris… I am disssappointed with you!” hissed the shadow.

“Master” I reply trembling.

“Ha! She sssaid I’m her massster! Issn’t it funny how the traitor showsss me resssspect? Bitch!” yelled my master and darted at me. Fingers made of smoke were trying to catch me and his eyes were burning with hate.

“How dare you? How dare you to bring our doom? How dare you to live…?”

“I didn’t bring the doom…” I whispered before my master’s yell silenced me.

“Don’t you dare to sssspeak back to me, you ungrateful wench! You bound ussss! You bound our magic and our own sssoulsss to your pathetic, disssgusssting life! You didn’t dessserve the honor of being a lux! You father wasss right, little one”, said he with a voice filled with contempt and cattiness. “I should’ve advisssed him to KILL you! To kill you!” roared Daeytaery.

The rest of the shadows were yelling their accord and that’s the moment when I snapped out from my fear-induced trance. I controlled them now that their force was bound to me. Trying to regain my composure and mustering my non-existent courage, I stand up and I pointed at my old master a bony finger.

“You”, I spat with as much venom I can. “ You and you and all of you are responsible for our Doom” I screamed trying to cover their voices, that had in the meanwhile reached an uncontrollable level.

With a flick of my hand, I send all of them out of my room. I knew that it won’t last longer, but I needed some time to gather my thoughts. I definitely wasn’t ready to face the other lux’. I dreaded this meeting and I foolishly hoped that they would remain on the island. But a dead lux is still a very powerful one and even if I took most of their power when I took their force, they still had a very little magical strength coming from their very soul.

With trepidation, I watched as the shadows came back and I can’t help myself from smirking. Oh!, the irony of being called light or life in our language just to be a nothing more than a shadow right now.

“Welcome to you, my friends!”. It suddenly appears to me that I was a little too rude and cruel to some people that were my family for the majority of my life, but since guilt it’s something that I banned entirely from my list of acceptable emotions, I continued to smirk with condescension.

“Sssaelyrisss Targaryen! Who…”

I interrupted him before he could ask me something else and I raised my chin a little higher.

“Listen to me, old friends. You must understand that I have nothing to do with our Doom…”. This affirmation caused once again chaos so I was bound to release another round of magical light. They stopped and started to mutter curses at me. Figuring that I could put up with at least that, I said loud and clear:

“I had nothing to do with Valyria’s Doom! When I started the ritual, the fire had already begun to burn and the sky was a sickening, bloody red. People and dragons equally were asphyxiated by the toxic smoke and their flesh was already melting under the unforgivable heat of that unnatural fire. So see my friends, I tried to fight the fire with fire, but it would not budge so I have done whatever one of you had tried to do. I tried to save my life!” I finished out of breath.

They were looking at me with a mixture of hate, curiosity and understanding. Very little understanding, actually, because once I have finished my speech, whispers with “Unforgivable ritual” and “Demonic ways” and “Evil soul” were starting to be heard.

Sighing to myself I looked at my masters dead and cold eyes and I knew that whatever I was going to tell them, they were going to hate me as much as they were now. And I knew that if I would be in their position I would act just like them, but that didn’t stop the small ache from my chest to exist.

“Maybe you didn’t start the Doom”, he ignored my snort of disbelief and continued “but you took advantage of a tragic situation and made a FORBIDDEN ritual. You foolish girl, do you think that you can trick death with no aftermaths? Do you think that your crime will remain unpunished! You deserve to suffer as much as we do…!”

“How dare you to say that I hadn’t had to suffer! Have you the slightest idea of how I spent the last 500 years??! Do you know how I begged for my death every passing second and how I cursed my decision every second of my damned life?! I was in hell, Daeytaery, and I have no intentions to go back!” I screamed with fervor.

“The Doom…”

“… was started because of us. All of us” I said while I looked each shadow in the eyes “ all of the so right and mighty lux`s had caused this. Have you never question why our powers seemed so much stronger than our ancestor`s were? It was because of the Blood! With each generation of valyrians conquests and with each new slave beaten, tortured and killed, more and more blood was flowing and this was fueling our powers. You are as evil as you say I am. I at least had the courage the save myself from a fate worse than death! But you, you accuse me of treason when your own powers were feeding on the power of the bloodbaths!”

Their eyes were looking at me with something akin to wonder. Nobody had ever the courage to question the origin of our power but we all knew deep inside, that the blood of the killed ones was fueling our magic. What once started as weak magical power taken from complicated blood rituals had transformed over the centuries in a native gift. The crimes and cruelty were so deep written in our genes that the magic was feeding with our ancestor's murderers. Just the cruelest and blood-thirsty of the valyrian families were capable to produce lux’ because their past was the most horrific one.

Everything was wonderful and our powers seemed to become stronger by each passing year, but it was natural that nature would rebel against our evil magic. It was too much, too often, too powerful.

And when the Doom came we were unprepared and shattered, every one of us trying to save himself. We stand no chance and our world was destroyed in by same elements in which with build it: fire and blood.

“They live, Saelyris”, said my master with a last glance at me. He swirled once and he was gone. The other dead lux’ took that as a sign and began to fade. Just a single shadow lodged and I gasped when I saw him.

With a trembling voice and averting his eyes, he told me:

“Your precious ritual”, spat he with as much venom as he could muster,” was called once Deus Mortuus”

I gasped and my heart went out of control. With a pleading look in my eyes, I begged him to tell me that this was some kind of twisted joke, but his eyes remain cold and unforgivable. With a sneer on his beautiful face, my dead fiancé disappeared.

Each breath was coming in quick, ragged gasps and I feel faint. The …the Deus Mortuum… it was impossible! I refused to acknowledge the fact that I had possibly done the evilest ritual in the world, that I invoked some forces so dark that the light can’t even reach them. If this was my ritual… nobody had ever done it before. It was just said to the young lux’ that they are forbidden to even look at the runes that mention the name. And to think that I had done it…

With a groan, I slipped on the hard floor and I closed my eyes. My conscience had chosen this exact moment to kick in, so the guilt was eaten me alive. But, but they must’ve told me! How should I know that the wonderful ritual that I had invented was already invented and that was the evilest thing that a human being, not even a lux, can ever do. They should’ve told me. The books where I read about my ritual had never mentioned that this was the Deus Mortuum ritual. Oh, I was truly doomed!

Convinced that my night can’t get more complicated and horrible, I opened my puffy eyes and I get up from the cold floor. On shaking feet I crawl towards my bed, when…

…I bitted my tongue so hard that I felt the blood invading my mouth. Choking on the foul tasting substance, I told myself over and over again to continue to breath. My tears were streaming my cheeks and my hands were trembling with a maddening speed.

Nobody was in my room except the shadows, but then how… how had that appeared? The shadows are just that, shadows! They could not move, touch or use objects. And I am sure that nobody from the human race had entered my room because I had set some very strong wards myself before going to bed.

But then why were fateful words written with blood on the opposite wall?

Getting closer and trying in vain to keep my control, I read the words in a strangled whisper.

 

The first verse from the song of ice and fire was written.

The dragon had awakened…

And blood and fire would he bring…

 

A/N: so what do you think? I f you have any questions about the ritual or about my vision of the Doom, feel free to ask, I would be more than happy to respond. If you find any grammatical mistakes or structures, please tell me! Nice holidays!

Chapter Text

A dream of ashes

 

Far away, in the frozen Nord, in the land of ice and snow, where the rivers are nothing more than beautiful sculptures that are shining in the cold light of the morning and are standing proud and aggressive in the down, in this forgotten place by the gods and people equally, here the darkness is ruling and the poor living souls are forced to bow deep in front of the eternally powerful Dark God.

 

Behind the Wall, the moral values that are so highly kept by lords and common people have no value. Here, you live how you can and hope that nature, the demons of the ice or another desperate human being isn’t trying to hurt you. Because if this is truly your story, you have three choices: you run, you bow or you kill.

 

This mentality is so deep settled in their minds, that no stranger can change their faith. Some had tried, priests of the seven, shamans of a god named Azor Ashaii, drunken priests, fanatically priests, hopeful priests. Their speeches had fallen on deaf ears and uncaring minds, their words flowing with the frozen northern wind.

 

The so-called wildlings knew from experience that the three rules they had and value more than anything else were lessons learned with the cost of great sacrifice and grief by their ancestors. From childhood to death they followed their instincts and their rules. They considered themselves free, but they were more enslaved than any miserable slave from the ‘free cities’. Their fear is ruling their lives and it is uncountable and eternal. Their demons came in the winter and go when spring comes, but who can predict in which winter will they came and in witch winter will they rest, so full of warm, human blood that they don’t see fit to go out and hunt.

 

The people closer to the Wall are still holding a small amount of hope, but further in the Nord you go, people become more and more resigned to their fate. Their eyes are sad, but wild, wild with a feverish hope for better times, but sad with the knowledge that their Lord and Master allowed them no such happiness.

 

Who is the northern God? Well, the people sworn to Winterfell and the ones under their command will surely tell you about the old gods, white trees with humanly faces carved in the wood. But if you go northern after the Wall, northern then the most far away village from the frosty dessert that is lying on the edge from the known places, then will the people tell you the real name and story of the true northern god.

 

The poor people that are living in the shadow of the known word will freeze at your question and stammer something under their breaths before they will look with big, frightened eyes at the stranger who dare to be curious about something so tragic and glorious in the same time. They will whisper to you an old story with beautiful, cast maiden and honorable, chivalrous knights. You will smile at their innocence and let them finish because something in their tone made you curious, something about the sorrowful edge in their horse voices made you wonder what can happen to the characters of the story to inflict so much pain in the dull eyes of the speakers.

 

They will see your incredulity, but they will continue anyway. This is their story as much as is the character’s. They live the aftermaths of the terribly ‘fairytale’ and you can or cannot believe. It doesn’t matter. They will tell you anyway.

 

They will tell you how their prince was a great warlock, with powers greater than their god’s and with a mind quick as the waterfalls, now dead, frozen and forgotten. They will tell you how their prince mind became benighted, his thoughts caught wings and were flying above the clouds and the common people’s hearts. They will say that his heart freeze and his mind became sharp as the ice in the middle of the winter is. His eyes were icier than the frozen lake and his voice harsher than the snowstorm. His father begged him to put a stop in his quest for power, but he will listen to nobody. In vain had his mother’s tears fallen, in vain had his lover’s voice stilled of so much pleading and crying. He will have invented new spells, new rituals and released more atrocities in the world under the impression that he will control them.

 

When the demons and monsters became too powerful even for him to control, he tried to fight them, but their powers were too great for a human mind to even grasp. They were creatures of darkness, rotten hearts, and mad minds. They craved human blood and they were destroying everything in their way. The prince was afraid of their powers and called all the warlocks of his time to advise and help him.

 

But his old father could not bear to see his people suffer, so he called his soldiers and lords and started a great war with the monsters. The first battle of the war was the least one too, none of the people surviving. The prince felt his cold heart shatter and from his icy eyes, two tears were molten. He made an oath to get revenge, no matter the cost. With his heart full of hatred and thirst for blood, he crossed every limit that had ever existed. He knew that no warlock, no matter his power and skill, can best the demons. So he became a god.

 

He worked seven years, night and day, day and night, and had finally come with a ritual so powerful that humanity had never seen and will never see again. He listened to none of the other wizards, warlocks or magicians, he hears none of their prayers, plead or curses and made the ritual. But before that, before the unimaginable to happen, all the other warlocks had decided to save as many people they can. So they gathered all the men that wanted to run and took them far away from the damned place. They put their skill and powers together and bewitched a Wall that will separate them from the war going on the other side. They put ancient blood wards and complicated runes on the Wall and promised the men that the demons nor their prince will be able to pass them.

 

The war began. The prince was no longer a prince, but a God. His army was no natural one, but one composed of dead people that had stayed. Seven days had the battle last and the sky was redder than the fields, colored with something more than just blood. The beasts were defeated and banished from this realm and their exile was sealed with powerful spells.

 

The prince was happy and had gone to find his people. The dead ones had followed, bond to their Master for eternity. The prince came in front of the Wall and demanded entry. The more courageous from the men had told him that his unnatural magic has to stay behind the Wall and that his followers, no matter who they are, sons, lovers, mothers or children will stay with him.

 

The prince raged, screamed and threatened, but he could not pass. He released his more powerful magic, but the Wall remained undamaged. He went away, promising that every winter he will come back and hunt the ones that were disloyal to him.

 

You will probably raise your brows, furrow them in concentration and recall the little history of Westeros you know. You will say ‘No, this isn’t true. The first men were the first of this kind in Westeros and before that only the Children of the Forests were living here”. They will offer you a small smile, a slight shake of their heads and will let you to your own beliefs. You wanted to hear their story, right? It’s not their problem if you believe that their prince was first a royal offspring, then a warlock, then… a God. A dead and malicious God.

 

***

 

Kingdom of shadows and frozen hearts…

 

 

The rulers from the Nord, behind the Wall, had probably never heard about the story of the fallen prince, but they knew the aftermaths. They knew that somewhere far away in the Nord, where in the summer the ice is gracing the branches of the trees like southern flowers and was the grass is well hidden under a thick layer of snow, there are living a very strange kind of people. Some say that they are there before the White Walkers and the Children of the Forest. They are tall and had white hair and fair skin. They do not smile and talk very little. They barely speak the wildlings language and they always carry long sticks craved with weird symbols. Their skin is tattooed with silvery ink and they share their knowledge with no one.

 

But that is very unimportant for the wildlings leaders. They care about their power and their power only. They became crueler and more savage along the centuries because of their lack of laws. Here, everyone is on his own, but if you cross whatever you leader had said, he will kill you. Or torture you and kill you. Or torture your family, kill them and then kill you. There are so many possibilities. Why chose?

 

 They are ruthless and their power is based on their cruelty. Their ethereal kingdoms are based on blood and death, but because of the cold, the rotten smell had not yet reached the Gods, or they will have had the same fate as Valyria…

 

 

An eternal night shall come…

 

 

The golden autumn is losing its strength by every day. Beautiful crimson and burgundy leaves are starting to lose their colors in favor of adopting the silvery layer of ice so specific to the winter. The wind no longer smells of fruits and autumn flowers, but of ice and cold. The smiles become sneers, the laughter is replaced by angry shouts and snappish remarks.

 

But this is the normal curs of the events. After a beautiful summer, the autumn came and blessed the people with its heat and abundance. The winter is making the people mourn the sun’s heat and the bird’s thrills, but they know that after blizzards and frozen lands will come the spring with its fresh flowers and green grass. The food will be enough for everybody and the winter’s sadness will be replaced with the spring hope.

 

This summer had been a short one, so elders say that the winter will be equally short. Maybe they are right. Maybe the demons will come and hunt the people or maybe the frost and ice will be the only enemies of the men. Nobody knows and nobody can predict what winter will bring. But the stories are old and there are no prove that White Walkers truly exist. Most wildlings are superstitions and they still listen to their inner voice and their instincts. But there are some who care for nothing else but their own ambitions. They have truly no morals and the ancient fear had no hold on them anymore…

 

***

 

Myert was not an intelligent kid. He knew that, his tribe knew that. Then why in the ancient god’s name had they left him alone in this endless, frozen dessert? How could they abandon him to a morbid fate?

 

Sniveling at his unfortunate future, Myert began his own journey.

 

The first was the first one to kick in was the thirst. He felt his throat on fire and his tongue was so dry that not even his spit could slip down his throat. His vision became blurry and his pace slowed down. Images with crystal clear water came and went before his tired eyes. He could swear that he felt the sweet taste of the water on his tongue. Cursing his bad luck, he looked for some snow, but no such luck.

 

His dessert was never ending and a thick layer of frozen, stone hard ice was making the landscape to glow unnaturally. He grazed the ice in hope to get some water, but it would not budge!

 

His eyes were hurting because of the blinding white light and his body started to feel rather heavy the lack of water.

 

 A night and a day later, poor Myert was laying on his back, praying the gods for a quick death. His thoughts were dancing as crazy and he was driving mad by his thirst. He had tried to lick the ice but to no avail.

 

The cold was rather bothersome on his first day, but now, at his second day down, he was freezing.

 

A merry tune began playing in his head and he smiled. The death will come and pick him, but this was a merciful fate.

 

A loud hiss was heard from his left and startled he turn around. To his increasing horror, a white figure with piercing, glowering blue eyes was staring into his very own soul. Taking in a sharp intake of breath, he tried to scream for help but the creature hissed something in a foreign language and his body started to convulse in pain.

 

His lungs were on fire, his limbs were stretched beyond possibility and his head was throbbing so bad that he begged for his death. Everything that came back, was a mocking, high-pitched laughter.

 

The next second he opened his eyes, everything seemed different. The night doesn’t seem so dark and the creature was now his master. How does he know? He doesn’t know, but a strong feeling was pushing him to kneel and to accept whatever thing his new master will tell him.

 

Go and take your revenge. Drink their blood and kill their families. They sold you to death and now you will give them what they had bought with your life….. more death!

 

 

The fire that had once ruled the world…

 

 

The taste of blood was so pregnant that even the finest foods from home couldn’t wash the foul taste. With a critic's eye the general Aertynus Gytaery, inspected his company. Most of his soldiers were laughing and joking, euphoric towards the new victory against the Ghiscari Empire. But Aertynus knew that the blood that had flowed today in the Ghiscary’s  city was just the beginning of a longest a cruel quest in gaining the supremacy.

 

But the Ghiscari were too blind and too proud to acknowledge their defeat, to understand the fact that they stood no chance against Valyria’s . With blood and fire had come the Valyrian’s armies and in blood and fire would her enemy end.

 

The lux that was assigned to come with the army was a very young one. The general could smell his ambitions and his blood-thirst. With glowing, violet eyes, fresh, young Syteras was a very dangerous man. His spells had managed to hide the Valyrian soldiers from the prying eyes of the Ghiscari city guards. The dragons had distracted the city’s army and when the charm had worn off, the soldiers were already on the walls. The surprise and horror of the Ghiscari would remain forever painted on the general’s mind. The way they screamed when their limbs were mercilessly cut and the way they pleaded their gods the death when a Valyrian dragon had started to blow his deathly fire on them were images that no one could forget.. They had cried, they had fought and they had run. But in the end, they had all bow before the Valyrian flag.

 

Aliyyah was once a Ghiscari princess. Her father was a very important man and her brothers were generals in the war against Valyria. But when the dragons had come and when the frightening Valyrian wizards had cast their destructive spells on her city, nothing could’ve stayed against them. Too much fire, too many crimes.

 

She had seen how the Ghiscari women were raped by the proud Valyrian soldiers, how the Ghiscari children were beaten and tortured by the ferocious, victorious men. She had cried the injustice that was brought against her city by the Valyrian pride. She had cried and pleaded her god’s for eternal peace for the killed ones.

 

But when the Valyrians soldiers had come into her home, killing her little brother and raping her other sisters, she had run. With tears of shame and fear, she had abandoned her family, her morals and her former life. On shaky feet and with a fluttering heart, she tried to escape through a secret passage her family had built specially for an occasion like this. Not that something like this had ever occurred in the past, but her ancestors had been cautious.

 

She had tripped on the dusty stairs, coughed more than every other time in her life and in one point when the tunnel had no lights and the blackness so pitch that she could be in the middle of a battle for all she knows, she started to doubt her rash decision. But she gathered her courage and fled. After what seems like a half of a day, she was confronted with a door. A door with no keyhole...?

 

She searched for something akin to a lock but no such luck. The panic started to flew free throw her veins and her head was full of thoughts one more sinister than the other. She thought in going back, but the stairs were so many and the darkness so frightening that she was sure that she couldn’t make it back. And, frankly, she wanted to nothing more than disapproving glares and lustful stares, horny soldiers and crying siblings will awaiting her. And she didn’t want to be raped nether scowled at. She had done the right thing and nobody had the right to judge for it. It was not her fault that the others had not thought about it or that they were too blinded by their pride to do something to save themselves. It was not her fault that her father and her brothers had lost the battle. What would they expect from her, to stay quiet and to wait for the Valyrians to take her a slave?

 

Aliyyah was so lost in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice when the door started to tremble and shook rather violently. But when she started at where before was the magic door, she found herself staring straight into a pair of very amused, reddish eyes. With a yelp and a frightened stare at the stranger she tried to run away but when she tried to move past the first stairs, she found herself out of breath. Looking back at the smirking Valyrian, she knew that she had the bad luck to run into a lux.

 

“Please, don’t hurt me, begged the beautiful Ghiscari girl.

 

With a feral grin and a lustful spark in his devilish eyes, the blond took her hand and whispered a soft incantation. Her mind shut down and she looked with glazed eyes at the handsome lux.

 

“What can I do for you, my lord?”, asked the know kneeling Ghiscari princess.

 

With a satisfied sigh, he threw her meaningful look and gestured towards his pants.

 

Her old conscious kicked in but her actions were controlled by an outsider force. She tried to struggle, to scream or to bite the spiteful man, but her hands reached him and her pride was smashed to the ground by her next shameful actions.

 

 

 

…Is now ashes, the winter is coming…

 

 

The valyrian ruins still held some of their lost magnitude, standing proud and defiant although the landscape was more than depressing. To an observer unversed in the art of seeing besides the appearances, the smoking shambles are nothing than a sequence of the doom frozen in time. But if you could look closer, you could see that some buildings are still standing, that maybe a fountain is not full with sticky, burgundy blood or that some flowers had preserved their grace and innocence.

 

It was a sight that head came from a nightmare, but the small glimpses of hope were still shining. Hope that was frozen in time, nothing more than reminders of a lost age, but they were still there. The small piece that remembered Valyria in all her glory were still trying to say to whoever wanted to know that a long time ago, this city was full of life and laughter. The corruption and treason were not the only things worth of telling from Valyria. They told you a story about an age when the dragons were flying above the cities peacefully, an age when the love and hope was filling everyone heart.

 

 

A young Rhaela was standing above the crib and was looking with love at the tiny toddler that was sleeping in it. She crooked a smile at her beautiful son and leaved.

 

Her mood was already gloomy, but when her eyes met her brother’s, hell broke.

 

“How could you?”, yelled she with a murderous glint in her eyes.

 

Her brother sparred her one most glance, than started to read his book again. Angry at his nonchalance, she grabbed his blasted book and threw in the fire. Aerys screamed in outrage and tried to recuperate his book from the flames.

 

When the ashes were finally too small to grasp, he turned toward her and with a sneer, hissed:

 

“What the hell had got your knickers in a twist?”

 

Rhaela let an indignant sigh and regard him coldly:

 

“My knickers state is none of your concern, brother”.

 

“Well, taking in consideration the fact that the source of your anger lay besides my dear son, your knickers are a very important factor in the grand scheme, don’t you think?”, asked her brother with a suggestive wink.

 

Ignoring his antics and remembering the reason why she came in the snake’s pit in the first place, she said with barley controlled rage:

 

“How could you break Rhaegar’s harp? Do you know how much he cared about it? How happy he was when I give it to him? He was in love with the instrument and you, being you usual insensitive self, had broken it!”

 

Aerys said nothing and avoided looking at her. Once she had stormed away, he arose and went to his son’s chamber.

 

“Hey little one”, whispered the king gently. The child opened his eyes slowly and looked at him.

 

“Daddy’s sorry about your harp. I promise you that I would buy you another one and… I will take to ride with me. What do you say?” said Aerys apprehensive for the answer.

 

A small nod was everything he got before the child was sleeping again. Looking at the tears traces on his white, puffy cheeks, Aerys felt something throbbing in his chest. But with the promise of a new day and a new chance with his son, he went to sleep.

 

 

 

Who said that the hell is in flames?

 

 

O bunch of freezing people were gathered before a heart tree. They were kneeling and their hands were grasping the tree’s branches with desperation. This was their last hope, their last resort. Maybe some would laugh when they would hear that the savages were praying for fire, and their prayers were not directed to some fire deity, but to the heart tree, to their old gods.

 

Their bodies are nearly frozen, but in their hearts, a little spark of hope is still keeping them alive. The children’s cries and mother’s pleas had stopped a long time ago and everything you can hear now is the ragged breath of the living ones. Some of them knew that they would die tonight, that this sun would be the last one that had caressed their skins with its loving beam. They knew that at the down they would finally found out if all the old stories about heaven and hell are true.

 

The another ones, the ones that are still believing that they would see the Wall, they would laugh with their families again, they are looking at the blood-red sky with something akin to affection. They are the peaceful ones.

 

But the sinners and believers, the dreamers and the pessimists, they all are asking themselves one single question. This innocent thought that was born in a feverish mind and defies their believes about life after death, is a simple one: “The hell is truly burning? Or, more credibly, is frozen?”

 

 

 

Thy lie! The hell rest in a cold heart and a cunning mind…

 

 

A wolf can’t survive without a pack. But no longer can they live with nothing to eat. The golden eyes of the alpha travel on his pack members, studying the state of their health. The hunger is a dangerous demon and if it’s truly awakened no amount of force will be able to stop the pack from deserting. So the alpha took the only decision that could save his pack. He went southern.

 

The winter came slowly this time, its fangs and paws more sharp then the other time. The oldest wolf from the pack, sniffled the air and growled worriedly. Something was not right, even the younger members can feel it. The ancient looking beast snarled at his alpha, trying to tell him that it the air it was an unnatural smell. The air was not full with the usual fresh, cold air that the winter brought, but with a faint odor of rotten flesh and spoiled blood.

 

The alpha understood and went deeper in the south, leaving the weird humans alone to the upcoming disaster. One of the men, tall and fair skinned, with silvery tattoos and a long, symbols craved tool, told the wolf to worry not about them.

 

Sad to leave his master, the wolf took his pack and ran…

 

 

 

And only warm blood can feed that frozen soul…

 

Over the dark mountains, along with the silvery rivers and trough freezing caves, ruins of a city are greeting your eyes. Everything is white, pristine. The layers of snow are so thick that you can barely see the contours of the old buildings.

 

Following a thin path along the city and through the forest, you had reached your destination. A mountain smaller than the others, with white stone shining in the cold, winter sun, is standing proud against the rough landscape. You had the honor to see the cursed prince’s court. White, skeletal horses are standing frozen in time before the entrance and rotten guards are looking at you with hatred and fear painted all over their faces. Inside, the temperature is even lower then outside and complicated, artistically ice models are graved on the walls.

 

Deeper inside, the darkness id thick and the cold biting… on an ancient throne sits the dead god … the cursed ruler that had sacrificed his men and family… for his ambitions…. Cursed will be the ones… that will follow the path that he had chosen…