SovereignOfHeaven

Raiden's Storm Chapter 81: King Of Winter

[Edric’s POV]

It took a great deal of willpower to drag myself out of my featherbed bed, especially knowing that I wouldn’t have that luxury for a while. The moment I left my sheet of furs, I wasn’t too cold. Winterfell had been built over natural hot springs, and I was clearly a beneficiary of that. If anything, it was decently warm.

I got dressed and didn’t waste much time lingering about. I left my bedchamber to the sight of a weary Ser Loras.

“You’ve seen better days.” I remarked.

“Just doing my duty, Your Grace…”

“Let’s get some food.” I patted his shoulder. “I don’t want you lacking for strength, ser.”

We pulled up to the dining hall a tad bit late, though not late enough for everyone to have left. As soon as I entered, people noticed and began rising from their seats. I strode over to the head of the table, where several plates of untouched food awaited me. I sat down and gestured for everyone else to do the same.

“I hear you were struck with a fever, Your Grace.” Catelyn Stark spoke as I ate slightly more gracefully than usual. "I am glad to see that you have recovered swiftly. Winterfell shall be your home for as long as you seek. You will need all of your strength."

I could see where Sansa got her manners from.

"I am grateful for the offer. However, I intend to ride for the Wall today."

"You only woke last night," Catelyn remarked.

"I am a tough bastard, if anything." I smiled reassuringly. "Worry not for me, lady Stark."

"In the Great Tourney at King's Landing, Edric took twenty-four lances against Ser Loras alone." Arya chuckled, glancing at the knight. "I believe he just got tired of hitting him at the end."

"I heard you hit a target from a thousand paces with an arrow of lightning that exploded... is it true?" Bran Stark asked, almost wide-eyed with fascination.

"Yeah." I nodded, having a drink.

"I'd like to see it in person..."

The Seven Kingdom's Got Talent...

"I'll show you when I depart, alright?"

Bran nodded.

"I believe it would be for the better if you left my daughters at Winterfell for the time being." Catelyn Stark added at last, sounding as if she had set her mind on such an arrangement. "The Wall does not have the comforts of Winterfell, their home."

"I understand that you have not seen them in some time." I nodded, speaking with a tone of acknowledgement. "It is also true that the men of the Night's Watch can be of... questionable character. I see no reason to drag them along with me to the harsher lands up north-"

"No," Arya interjected, shaking her head. "Sansa can stay, if she likes, but I'm going north."

"And what will you do there?" Catelyn questioned, taking a more stern motherly look. "It will be a place of battle, unfitting for a lady like you."

"How can I be a proper queen if I fear my own people and hide from their struggles? I'm going, and that's that. You can't tell me otherwise."

"Arya... I am your mother."

All of a sudden, they both looked at me.

I'm just trying to eat my food...

"If she insists." I shrugged. "Nothing will come to harm Arya so long as I draw breath, you can rest assured. Once the battles are won and the wildlings humbled, we will return to Winterfell together. Then we can celebrate this reunion properly with the war behind us, no?"

"There is no shield greater than His Grace." Sansa added, backing my statement. "At Edric's side, Arya is the safest lady in the Realm wherever she goes. With the Wall and Northern banners to add, your worries are unfounded, mother."

"... Very well." Catelyn Stark sighed as she gazed at Arya's look of determination, relenting. "I entrust my daughter to you once again, Your Grace."

Arya smiled slightly as she looked at her sister. Sansa nodded in turn.

They seem to be closer as of late.

I gave her my word and finished off my meal. I had extras cooked up since Winterfell's food tasted like heaven after weeks on the road. After a full stomach, I sent off Loras to get some shuteye while I went exploring. Arya served as my tour guide, showing me every important part of the castle.

It was absolutely massive and made the show's variant look like a minor house's walled holdfast in comparison.

We stopped at the Godswood, which spanned three acres. Seeing it in person was a whole different matter. The place was... eerie. The woods seemed untouched for an eternity, growing wild inside the moss-covered walls of Winterfell. There was an ancient magic here, one that was living.

A magic that had lived for thousands of years before and may just live thousands more after.

As I came closer to the heart tree, all sounds died, and the world fell still. I turned back to see Arya, but she wasn't there. I looked around and felt a stranger.

The silence broke as whispers replaced it. Whispers of dragons, battles, victories won, and defeats suffered. Cries of sorrow and helplessness, laughs of triumph and a rain of words. Words of past and future.

"He cannot be vanquished..."

"I shall take a dragon for mine own and rain fire down on the Usurper's bastard..."

"Too many dragons is as dangerous as too few."

"Does your dread know no bounds?"

"It's over..."

"When Prince Daemon had Blackfyre in hand, there was not a man equal to him."

"Hero. Champion. Protector."

"Villain. Demon. Butcher."

"The Blessed. Saint."

"The Scourge of the Land. Tyrant."

"Peacemaker, Warmonger."

“Take my fire and light the way through this darkness, Edric Storm…”

I saw Eddard Stark brandishing Ice. A Stark marrying a Blackwood. A younger Theon running about and trying to shoot down squirrels with some makeshift bow before growing into his own and shagging some girls.

I was beginning to wonder if the abilities of a greenseer were more of a curse than a blessing. I definitely didn’t need to see Theon making love. Nevertheless, I reached the heart tree and did not lack for courage as I raised my hand. I touched the melancholic face and felt colder than usual. It grew colder and colder until the entire tree froze still. The coldness spread out like a virus, marking the entire land.

I had never felt colder. The road to Winterfell was a summer day in the middle of a heatwave in comparison.

The frown and look of dismay on the heart tree’s face suddenly flipped into an eerie smile, blood falling from its eyes and mouth. 

I could feel the earth shake at each step…

I turned back.

“Your struggles are as fruitless as the desolate lands that you see.”

A cold, piercing, and ancient voice echoed in my mind. It emerged from the darkness of the forest, a colossal shadow that loomed over me - its extremely long hair flowing freely. Its head was adorned with a crown of tall, thick thorns. The armour that bound the white-haired creature was decorated with frozen skulls. Its blue eyes shined a dark blue, looking down at me. The face had no mouth or nose to speak of, both covered by a black armoured mask.

It held a sword in one hand, long enough to be a greatsword… its entirety made of ice.

"Your people shall starve, freeze, and succumb to the relentless passage of time, each year harsher than the last. Winter will claim them, and the living shall join the dead. Soon… darkness and winter will reign over the world, looming eternal as the earth.”

It pointed the sword at me.

“Soon, herald of the Storm, your struggles will come to an end at last…”

I blinked, and the shadow looked to be none other than me.

“BOO!”

I jumped, only to see Arya chuck a snowball right into my face. Everything returned to normal. I took a deep breath, wiping away the snow. In only a minute, I’d gone through an experience that felt like a century. A rollercoaster of emotions.

“Where in Seven Hells were you?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“You aren’t too good at seeking, are you?” Arya laughed. “You looked completely lost.”

“...” I decided not to share what I had seen, managing a smile. “You want snow? I’ll give you snow.”

I bent down to grab a handful of snow, moving my head to dodge Arya’s second throw just in time. I countered with my own ball, only for her to dash away. 

“You missed!”

“I won’t miss a second time.” I grinned slightly, channelling Storm magic.

“That’s cheating…”

“Is it?”

The wind swept up the snow in the surrounding area, swirling to form several whirlwinds of snow all around Arya. In the blink of an eye, one fell on her after the other until she was buried. I walked over, chuckling as she poked her head out like a whack-a-mole. It was tempting to put her down once again.

She pouted, puffing her cheeks.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Counts if the King says so. Who’s to say otherwise?”

“Right… fine, you win.”

She rose from the snow and… countered with another throw just as I turned back.

I didn’t expect it.

“So that’s how it is…”

We’d snowball fight for a while, the moment washing away the shadow of the being I assumed to be the Night King. He looked more like the Lich King or Sauron than the scrawny Night King, which did not make me feel all too confident. I’d never known fear facing an opponent, but he… was something else entirely. Otherworldly. 

The kind of being that could trample the world.

I needed to be even mightier than that.

~

[Jon’s POV]

He would go on and explain the path he’d taken since leaving Winterfell to Robb in private. Jon was entirely truthful and honest with his brother, sharing everything. Even his love for Ygritte… which was not much of a secret by now - but he admitted to it nonetheless. Robb did not look fond of that, for certain.

“Wildlings are a lawless people.” Robb had a look of disapproval. “Rapists, thieves, butchers who kill without thought. There are stories as old as the Wall of them passing it and taking our steel, food, spices, silks… whatever they can get their dirty hands on. Women and girls, too. They carry them off back home whenever they can.”

“I’ve heard all of the stories, as did you…” Jon nodded.

“And you’ve seen it, no? I’m not sure what father would even do with you.” Robb Stark had a cup of wine, looking strained.

“Ygritte isn’t like that.” Jon denied. “Not all of the free folk act the same way.”

“A couple nights joint together enlightened you, Snow?” Robb scoffed. “You broke your oath. Even worse, with an enemy. An enemy of the North for thousands of years…”

How could he explain Ygritte to him… to them? She’s warm and smart and funny, and she can kiss a man or slit his throat.

Yet, saying so would only earn more of his brother’s disdain. He did not think that Robb ever knew that kind of love. Words did not leave him, for he did not know what to say in defence that could make him understand.

“They’d have you executed for a traitor,” Robb said, shaking his head. “If it were just any man of the Night’s Watch…”

Even though he didn’t finish, Jon knew what he meant to say.

“Do you know how hard it will be to defend you?”

“You don’t need to.” Jon suddenly said. “If it burdens you so much, I’ll take the punishment.”

“...” Robb cracked a smile in response. “I won’t abandon you, Jon. I know the men of the Night’s Watch tend to go into Mole’s Town at night. If all the men who slept with a woman were killed, there’d be only ghosts to man the Wall… or so Maester Aemon had told me.”

“... It is true.” Jon nodded.

“Only that you slept with a wildling and killed another man of the Night’s Watch. Even if he commanded you to… it’s not something that can be proven, as you’re the only witness. But…”

“But?” Jon questioned.

“One word from the King, and all of your crimes will wash away… if you can convince him of your innocence. You will need to prove yourself in battle, as well. Leave no question where your loyalties lie.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If His Grace deems you a criminal, no one in the Realm could stop him from taking your head.” Robb made a hopeful smile. “Alas, I know him to be an understanding and reasonable friend who values the bonds he forges. He will stand for you, I am certain. If not for what he thinks is just, then for Arya and I.”

He sounded fond of Edric Storm, who had earned his legitimacy through achievements that his regal father could not deny. Because of that, he had also been given his beloved sister’s hand… who Jon couldn’t imagine as a lady. Though, perhaps the girl had found a boy to love in the King.

In truth, he found the thought amusing that a bastard could rise to Kingship, where he had once only dreamed of having Winterfell. Such a boy had to be great, without a shadow of a doubt… for what Realm would allow an unfitting bastard to rule it?

In a way, it was inspiring.

Jon looked forward to meeting him in person, should he live long enough.

“Then I must thank him in advance.” Jon nodded.

“All we need to do is hold the wall long enough for him to arrive - which should be easy enough, given how many men we have and the Wall’s defences.” Robb’s eyes flashed knowingly. “Once Edric is here, the wildlings may as well turn the other way around if they know any better.”

“... That’s the difference one boy can make?”

“That’s the difference one King of Storms makes, my dear brother. You will see.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 80: Attack on Castle Black

[Arthur’s POV]

As the days passed, he felt better physically and regained his strength. His mind refused to remain idle, however, as he found himself studying books and seeing how he might improve his penwork. The White Book only deserved his finest, after all.

“Your recovery is swift, Ser.” Grand Maester Gormon observed with curiosity. “So very swift, indeed. It is reminiscent of His Grace.”

“If only I could be struck by lightning.” Arthur jested, recalling how Edric rose each time. “Or, in this case, burned. Would I regain my strength?"

“It could be arranged, of course. Though - I would not recommend it. The greater mysteries of this world are a fickle thing with little understanding."

“It likely wouldn't have the desired result.” Arthur nodded.

“Your way of burning through armour is a curious thing, indeed… but our King is a magical wonder of his own who might stand even greater than the dragons of Valyria. I could not blame the men who preach him to be a god. At times, he truly seems indomitable.”

“Everyone wants to believe in something,” Arthur remarked, speaking his own thoughts. “It’s far easier to put faith in something you see with your own eyes - someone who hears your prayers and acts upon them."

“And that is why he is the chosen son, I suppose. A prophet for the Gods.” Gormon did not sound like he believed what he said. “It would be unfitting for the Gods to do any more than that when it comes to interfering with mortal affairs. Faith would come all too easy, no? Or so the septons say."

Out of character, more like.

The Gods ignore prayers like drops of rain to an ocean.

Arthur kept his thoughts to himself.

“How long until I can fight?”

“The young are always so eager.” Gormon chuckled. “If you want to be at your best, it may take a moon or two. As for the current you…well, you should be well enough to walk and participate in less straining activities.”

"That's enough for me." Arthur left his bed. "I do not wish to be idle any more than necessary."

"Very well, though it might delay your overall recovery."

"I should be fine."

Since Edric left King's Landing, he had sprung a few plans into action. Asha Greyjoy was sent off to the Stepstones to settle some pirates who had made trading difficult; Rhaerra had been appointed as the Master of Coin's advisor, and Edric left his green troops for me to train. He specified that he wanted them to master the bow above all else... which had not been Arthur's strong suit - ever.

For that matter, he was worse with the bow than any other standard weapon. He considered it a less honourable weapon, which was a sentiment a great majority of nobles shared. However, he realised its strength and utility as time went on through Edric. It won him countless battles, decisively and with little losses.

If he commanded a unit of elite archers who were even a quarter as good...

Arthur saw Edric's vision, deciding to do what he could to help realise it.

He began with recruiting the best archers in King's Landing, starting at the top.

...

Though Rhaerra now worked with Alester Florent, she'd still find the time to attend to her myriad of passions. He found it hard to believe that she could jump from one thing to the next at a whim and remain ever so focused. At this time, she stood in her rented space and painted under the moonlight.

Valaegor lazily nested in the flowers, yawning.

He makes for an awful guard, Arthur noted.

"Pardon me for disturbing your painting." Arthur approached with courtesy. "I wish to have a moment of your time."

"Is that who I think it is?" Valaegor's eyes flashed open as he leapt up from the ground up to his feet. He proceeded to point directly at Arthur. "Hah, it's you! I see that you're well enough to stand. That is good, very good. How about a rematch - right here, right now?"

"..." Arthur raised an eyebrow. His flame hadn't dimmed in defeat at all.

"Don't be so craven, now-"

"I have better things to do than entertain that." Arthur turned to Rhaerra, who paused. "I was wondering if you could spare some time helping train Edric's men. With the bow, specifically. I am certain that Edric would be grateful for it."

"Tsk, don't waste my lady's time with such fruitless notions." Valaegor scoffed. "Those men are greener than spring grass. They couldn't even fire a proper bow."

"They'll learn." Arthur shrugged. "Did you come out of your mother's womb knowing how to wield your poleaxe?"

"How did you know?" Valaegor grinned.

"Hm... the King's gratitude." Rhaerra mused for a short while. "I suppose I should show my appreciation for his trust. Very well, you can have the services of any of my men should you need it. I believe Taelor would be best suited in this regard."

"I... had hoped that it would be you instead," Arthur admitted. "You did win the archery competition, after all."

"You want a tumble too?" Valaegor scoffed.

"I'm a sworn brother of the Kingsguard." Arthur found the suggestion insulting.

"Hey, I wouldn't blame you." Valaegor chuckled, shrugging. "Rhaerra is quite the beauty. I assure you that men have forgotten their honour and vows for less."

"It's a small wonder why Edric didn't even want you." Rhaerra put down her brush and turned to them. "Why don't you prove that you are worth the hassle, Val? If you can aid with shaping those boys into men, he might reconsider his decision."

"..." Valaegor frowned before looking confident once more. "It's not as if I have much more to do in this city..."

She has a similar gift as Edric, Arthur noted to himself. The golden tongue that can convince anyone to see their way and act accordingly.

"As for me, I'll assist when I can and give advice where fitting." Rhaerra looked at Arthur. "Will that suffice, Ser?"

"I am most thankful, my lady." Arthur nodded solemnly before smiling. "I will disturb you no further."

"Hardly the disruption." She shook her head. "You are a most charming knight, indeed."

"..." Arthur did not look flustered. "I thank you for the compliment."

~

[Jon Snow's POV]

Escaping from Styr, Jon gave warning of his attack on Mole's Town and Castle Black. Given Bowen Marsh's command to take all the fighting men, they were left with old men, cripples, boys as green as grass and the villagers who had fled from Mole's Town. Still, Donal Noye managed to make use of every man and woman in one way or another.

Jon himself, who need crutches to walk due to the arrow shaft he endured in his leg, insisted on joining the fighting. He had been given a longbow and stationed at the King's Tower alongside eight brothers. Six of them were made of straw, cloaks, and leather. Scarecrows. There were ten of them for every living brother, in towers and windows, some even wielding spears or crossbows. It had been Maester Aemon's notion, to give the freefolk the idea that they were more fortified than in truth.

It would not deter them.

Night came, and shadows began to lurk. Castle Black's name was somewhat deceiving. It was a castle without walls, comprised of only towers. In preparation for the attack, a ten-foot tall barricade crescent- shaped had been swiftly made up of logs, crates, basks of nails, caskets of grain... anything that they could get their hands on. It stood before the gate which led up to the Wall, defending the two things of most paramount importance—the gate to the north and the switchback stairs that led to the top of the Wall.

The day before, word had come that his brother, Lord Stark, would be arriving with thousands of men, and several more thousand after... but they couldn't rely on him now.

The Wall was theirs to defend, Jon knew.

He prepared his first arrow shaft, taking the time to be accurate. He waited as they ran, observing, waiting...

He let go, and the first of three shadows slumped backwards in a low grunt. There were only two of them now, moving faster than before. Jon hurried the next shot, missing. They were gone by the time he would've taken his third. He looked for his next target, finding several more lurking around the undefended Lord Commander's Keep.

His next arrow would pierce a thenn's shield, the fourth a throat.

"I got one!" He heard the boy beside him, Satin, cry out.

"Get another," Jon called.

Before long, he would not need to look for targets anymore - only choose them. He shot down a wildling archer and then sent a shaft to an axeman hacking at Hardin's Tower. He missed that time, though his arrow made the wildling reconsider. As he turned away in a hurry, old Mully put an arrow through his leg from the roof of the Flint Barracks.

Down below, he saw a mop of thick red hair.

Kissed by fire, he thought, lucky.

He brought his bow up but his fingers would not part and she was gone as soon as she had come.

Soon enough, the tides of battle would change. Much of Castle Black would be turned to flame, a warhorn would blast the air, and fifty Thenns would come marching down the Kingsroad. In turn, Jon led his two brothers to the north parapet of the King's Tower.

It couldn't have been an easier shot as the Thenns had their backs turned to the King's Tower as they charged the crescent-shaped makeshift barricade, spilling corn and blood alike with reckless abandon. At the same time, arrows and crossbow quarrels rained down upon them by Donal Noye's stationed archers atop the towers.

Suddenly, as Jon moved back to fill his empty quiver, the trapdoor was forced open and a wildling helm presented himself. Jon didn't think twice, dropping his longbow and drawing Longclaw. He caved Valyrian Steel through the wildling's skull, pushing it down and drawing out the blood-soaked blade. The bronze helm the wildling had worn did him no favours, breaking to the vastly superior Valyrian Steel.

The wildling fell down to wherever he came from, though Jon could hear that there were more of them down below.

"The oil." Jon said and Satin nodded.

Together, they poured down the heavy kettle of boiling oil onto the wildlings below the trapdoor. Terrible shrieks came down from below, no better than any sound he had heard before. Jon kicked the trapdoor shut and set the heavy kettle on top of it, making sure that entry is not near as easy as before.

Satin looked like he wanted to thorugh up the little food he had eaten but Jon gave his face a heavy shake.

"Retch later," Jon said. "Come."

They had not been gone long, but everything had changed below. Only a little over a dozen men stood behind the barricade while the wildlings kept relentlessly swarming. One of the men from Mole Town turned and fled. Before long, all of them would follow - dropping their weapons and abandonding the barricade. The few black brothers who remained were too few defend from the surging wildlings.

They tried to form a line of spears but were swarmed, falling back not too far behind the villagers.

Donal Noye had stationed spearmen on the first two flight of stairs but they soon would crumble too, racing up to the higher flights. Archers and crossbowmen on higher landings would fire down on the wildlings but they kept advancing - drunk on victory.

Jon and Satin kept firing, but there were only two of them and at least seventy Thenns.

All that remains is the last resort...

Jon thought, loading another arrow.

Then he heard a gallop... louder and louder. Closer. Closer and closer.

Jon turned away from the battle, to the south. Seconds later, he began to see it through the veil of the knight. They covered the horizon, mounted northmen all. As they came closer, they rode even faster. The banners came into view...

Stark loomed taller than all the rest, proud and fierce. Umber's roaring giant, Karstark's white sunburst, House Bolton's red flayed man, House Glover's silver first, House Manderly's merman and many more...

They had all come in defence of the Wall.

His brother, Robb... now Lord Stark was chief amongst them.

The wildlings knew what awaited them soon enough, turning back to see hundreds of riders. The black brothers regained their courage as the wildlings trembled more than the earth did. They turned to flee from the approaching cavalry.

The northmen stormed Castle Black's every exit and surrounded the wildlings. Jon saw his brother cut down two of them in succession, while the men around him put down several more.

The Thenns were crumbling swifter than the moles had been only a short while ago.

Jon managed a smile, the first in a while.

Though, as the happiness of the coming victory faded, his mind thought of Ygritte. A strong fear had overcome him.

Jon put down his longbow and had his brothers help him down the tower. He held his crutch one hand and Longclaw in the other. Though, as mounted men stormed the grounds, he could not pass. Only pray that she had not been there, that she hid... that she lived.

His prayer was answered as he saw that same hair in the distance, running into the Lord Commander's keep. Jon followed as best as he could, falling to the ground once as he rushed too hard. He rose up and willed himself after her.

Though, he would not be first. Two black brothers had charged after her, far faster than he did. They had come for blood.

"Yield." Jon insisted, shouting with the loudest voice he could muster. "The battle is over. You don't have to fight anymore."

Ygritte had drawn an arrow and the two brothers hesitated.

"Yield!" Jon insisted once more, more desperate in his tone. "No harm will come to you, Ygritte, I swear it."

He could see them scowling at him. Defending her would not make him look any better than the turncloak they already believed him to be. Even so, in that moment, he cared little for it. He wanted to see her live.

She hesitated, stepping back to the wall.

"You know nothing, Jon Snow."

"I know... you won't fire on me."

Jon would continue forward with his crutch, dropping Longclaw to the ground. His wounded leg burned with pain as he forced himself forward... but he kept on. Closer and closer.

It looked as if she meant to fire another shaft upon him, but he showed no hesitation.

He had been right... she did let loose.

Before long he was within arm's reach and came even closer, falling into her. Her arrow fell to the ground, the bow coming not short after while he wrapped his arms around the woman he had come to live.

"No one will hurt you," Jon promised in a whisper. "Not unless they mean to kill me first."

It was the best he could manage as he was...

"I knew it... that bastard. He's with the wildling!"

They would come upon him, Jon knew.

Before he could explain, he turned and saw his brother alongside a dozen men fill the keep. Robb looked at him with a conflicted expression when he realised who he was. They shared stares, and Jon felt as if a hundred years had passed since they last met. So much had happened in so little time...

"Lower your spears; the battle is done," Robb spoke, and the voice of Lord Stark, one not unlike their father, came out. The black brothers obeyed. "Jon Snow, walk away from that wildling. She will be taken prisoner until further notice."

Jon would ease Ygritte into it, letting her go. She was carried away while Robb walked up to him. He had grown taller, more confident and stern. The wars down south had hardened him. The boy he once knew was dead, Jon realised.

Jon leaned against the wall, holding his crutch in preparation for his judgment.

Robb surprised him with a tight embrace.

"It has been some time, Snow."

Robb managed a smile as he withdrew.

"You have much to explain."

"Yes..."

Jon felt the tension in his heart fade. He had misjudged Robb, if only slightly. His brother would not let him die. Not here.

"That I do."

Raiden's Storm Chapter 79: Fever Dream

[Edric’s POV]

“It seems that the cold is not treating you too kindly.” Raiden Shogun remarked, observing my condition. 

The worst part of it was that I was just as sick in the Plane of Euthymia, making fighting more of a struggle than a learning experience. It was the third day of my fever, and it hadn’t gotten much better.

Though, on the bright side, Winterfell was not too far. I could enjoy one night of comfort there.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been anywhere this cold… ever.” All the furs in the world didn’t seem to be enough. “I’ll just have to push through it. It’ll improve eventually.”

“What you need is rest.” Raiden shook her head. “Your condition may just worsen if you persist without making a recovery.”

“... I’ve rested long enough.”

“What good would you be to anything up at the Wall in this state? I’m certain it isn’t any warmer up there.”

“It’s my duty. I won’t sleep in comfort when there’s a hundred thousand wildlings seeking to invade my Realm. While I can still knock an arrow, I’m well enough…”

“... So stubborn.” She sighed helplessly , sitting down. “Those wildlings will be the least of your Realm’s problems if you freeze to death. Now, if you refuse to rest there, the least you can do is rest here.”

“What good would that do?” I raised an eyebrow. “Everything that happens here does not affect my real body. Well, physically, at least.”

“Not directly. However, a strong mind can fortify the body. This illness has unsettled you - as much as you like to act otherwise.”

“And your solution is?”

“Lay down beside me.”

“... Uh-huh.”

“What are you thinking?” She blinked. “It is nothing nefarious.”

“If it works.” I shrugged, stepping forward. “How do you want me to lay down?”

“Place your head on my lap.”

Raiden must’ve learnt a few things from watching the ladies in King’s Landing.

“Surely that will take the fever away.” I remarked with a clear tone of sarcasm, though I did not deny her request. After turning my back, I laid down and made myself comfortable. “What now?”

“Clear your mind of all distractions.” She instructed, reaching for my left arm and moving it to my chest. Afterwards, she touched the back of my left hand, which carried my broken fealty. “Be still and tranquil, clear as the water of a lake. Fall into the ocean of your desires or float freely in the wind. Whichever place leaves you without worry - reach out to it.”

Perhaps the place I wanted to go back to most was the distant past, where my life was sparkling with endless possibilities, and I did not have a worry in the world. When my dad would drag me away from the computer with yet another handyman lecture, when my mother would make the most delectable Sunday roast imaginable with sweet-smelling pancakes and a fruit smoothie for desert or when my brother would display the full supremacy of Swadian Knights on the field.

Yet, I couldn’t. It was so distant a memory that those feelings were foreign to me entirely. I felt like an imposter there. The present was no more pleasant, with me freezing my premature balls off. That only left the future - what I was fighting for.

I took a deep breath and let myself go.

…

The realms of mankind stood united as one, triumphing over the Night King and his army of undead. I was the one to lead the great charge, smashing him into oblivion with my warhammer. The winter cold would come to an end and spring would bring a fresh breath of life with it.

Then I threw the biggest party in recent memory, drinking, feasting, hunting and fighting like no tomorrow. No being in existence could dull my celebration. My greatest battle had come to pass and now I alone stood at the summit of the world. 

An army of winged knights - the heroes of the Long Night - lined the path to the Sept of Baelor, forming a carpet of gold, black and steel. Blackened steel was their armour yet they all carried bows of goldenheart with cloaks to match. 

Robb Stark led Arya down, who caught the eyes of the hall with her stunning beauty. She paced with confidence - the air and grace of a queen. 

“All yours.” Robb smiled, leaving her to me after removing Arya’s House Stark-styled cloak. He’d pat my back before turning away.

It must have been quite a number of years, for Arya had the appearance of a strapping young woman. For once, I wouldn’t have to push her away. There was no guilt as I wrapped my second Baratheon cloak around her and took the lady for my queen.

As we spoke the words and phased into the great hall, the doors suddenly burst open as an absolute unit stormed in. 

“May every whore in the Seven Kingdoms rejoice; Big Bobby B is back in town!”

I raised an eyebrow. What in seven hells?

Robert Baratheon had come alive, looking to be at his peak, holding one giant bottle of wine in one hand and a reluctant Eddard Stark in the other. The streak of my dreams going in strange directions remained undefeated.

Everyone acted like things were perfectly normal as he strolled forward.

“They said who let me in the kitchen, Ned. I let myself in and cooked better than any one of them!” Robert using Gen Z terms wasn’t something I thought I needed.

“Aye… your decision has aged well.” Eddard Stark agreed, nodding solemnly.

“It couldn’t have aged better!” Robert exclaimed, laughing. “Our houses bound together at last, my wildest boy with your wildest girl. Look at how they tamed each other, hahahahah."

"Arya always said she'd never be a lady." Eddard Stark sniffled suddenly, making Robert stop. "She has grown a great deal since then-"

"Are you crying, Ned?"

"No..." Eddard Stark denied it - even though he looked somewhat teary-eyed. "Just... I'm so proud of my girl. She will make for a great queen."

"With how she stares at him, we'll be grandsires together by the next year!" Robert laughed. "There's no greater occasion for tears of joy, Ned. Go on - cry a waterfall!"

"No, I'm not crying-"

"Come on, I'll cry with you."

Seeing them, I couldn't help but smile. I knew they were both dead, yet I'd imagine they'd react similarly if they had lived. Such a deep friendship was more priceless than any treasure in the world. Nothing could break it.

Arya had smiled too, shaking her head. "Our fathers like to embarrass us, don't they?"

"That they do." I chuckled.

Eventually, Robert separated from Eddard and walked up to me.

"If it isn't the man of the hour, eh? Come ride with me, boy. I got some words to share."

"... Ride?" I raised an eyebrow. "Why'd you want that?"

"This wedding's fake anyways." Robert laughed, making me chuckle. Now, he was breaking my dream's fourth wall. "We never talked much. You'll have a lifetime with Arya - if you live so long."

"Very well."

I was curious where this would take me, following Robert out of the Red Keep and finding my trusty black destrier. We rode off into the Kingswood together under the veil of the night.

"Nothing like the wind brushing across your face as you ride," Robert spoke, coming to an eventual stop before dismounting. "Far enough from all the flatterers and lickspittles, no?"

"Mhm." I nodded, taking in the scenery as I did the same. "It's a breath of fresh air."

"One of the things I rue most is never knowing you well enough, Edric." Robert was not so cheery anymore, almost looking sad. "You were the son I should've always had by my side - Cersei be damned. If I had known..."

"It's in the past," I remarked.

"So it is." He nodded. "You need not be so cold to me, Edric. You already let me die at the Battle of the Fords."

"..." My expression did not change. "You let yourself die, Robert. You charged in like a fool-"

"As you knew I would." Robert smiled, chuckling. "You could've prevented it."

"Should I have played babysitter instead? What if Stannis paid the price for it?"

"I'm not angry at you, Edric. Not at all." He kept his smile. "You've become so great a warrior and, in time, will be a greater king than I could dream of having been. Even if you may not think fondly of me, know I couldn't be more proud of you. Doubtlessly - you are a son any man would be proud to own to."

"I'm not ungrateful to you," I replied, shaking my hand. "I only am King today because you legitimised me and refused to take another wife. You gave me my strength and blood, the inherited loyalties of many lords."

"Yet you'd never call me your father wholeheartedly, would you?"

"No."

"I don't blame you. You have fonder memories of your first father." He chuckled, seemingly knowing everything he shouldn't. "All you had was the image of a drunken, boasting, wastrel who only took interest when you soared. To that end, I stripped you of the life you had made for yourself. In part, my selfishness has made you the person you are today."

"Again, it's in the past," I remarked. "No use in regretting it now."

"You were born with wings, Edric. That is why the wind heeds your call. It's your innermost desire to be free, and I took that freedom from you. You should've been the world's knight, going wherever your heart desires. Though... you are right. A dead man's regrets are moot." He smiled, sighing. "All I can leave you with is some words of advice."

"And what advice would that be?"

"Only words you already know." Robert smiled. "Sometimes you are more like Stannis than any one of us. You know how he is. Awfully dull in his duty, honour... a bitter man. Most of his life is a misery because he makes it so."

"Don't speak for me, ghost. I am not at all like Stannis." I chuckled, finding the accusation absurd.

"Ah, Renly's mask might fool everyone else, but it does not fool me. I'm you, after all. I know Edric Storm better than anyone else."

"Oh, really? Now you're me."

This dream just keeps getting better.

"You know, when you get drunk and act out of left field - or so you believe... that is the real you. You seek love wherever it may be and take it. You're not afraid to have your fun."

"So, a womaniser?" I questioned. "Brilliant."

"No shame in it, boy. It's in your blood, to be virile and unrestrained. Only you can chain yourself - as you always have." Robert patted my back. "You're a young man; you should have a taste of the world. The right way, hahahaha. Only when you make the Seven, I'll consider you a real man."

"The day I fuck a woman from the Iron Islands is the day I drown myself. Besides, I don't need your approval."

"Hahahaha." 'Robert' laughed. "Well, they are the fishiest of them all. Dirty, salty and rocky bitches. Who knows, you might fancy 'em?"

"..." I frowned. "No way in hell."

"Don't know till you try."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Alright, alright. One last thing. Be wary of yourself."

"Rather contradicting, don't you think? First, you suggest being unrestrained, and now you ask me to be wary of myself."

"Now, hear me out innit bruv." Robert raised a finger.

"... I don't have anything else to do, I suppose."

"Arthur Astley couldn't hurt a bloody fly; now he's running around and breaking skulls and smiting people down with hardly any remorse. You see what I mean? The old you would be terrified."

"That's how the world is. The weak die and make way for the strong." I refuted. "If I stayed the same person I was, I would've gone nowhere in life. I would've died an insignificant death."

"Yes, there is justification behind each action, but... the deeper down this rabbit hole you go, the less that justification matters until it becomes entirely moot. Before you know it, the darkness within will consume you, and the world will fear a tyrant even more catastrophic than the Night King."

"It matters not to me. Let my enemies fear me; let them drown in terror before I even face them." I smiled, eyeing 'Robert'. "It only means I will have to dirty my hands less. The ends justify the means, as I see it."

"Ever the martyr..." Robert chuckled. "Sacrificing yourself for a better world and a timeless, exalted legacy. Yet, fighting all of these battles can no longer be called a sacrifice, can it? For you take pleasure in it."

"See it as you like. It matters not to me."

"Well, then. Since you've chosen this path... we may as well see it to the end." He grinned as his body began to fade. "Serve the wildlings true terror, Edric Storm. Engrave your name into their hearts."

The dream came to an end.

It was supposed to be one free from worries, wasn't it? Yet they trespassed into it regardless...

I've wasted Raiden's efforts, more likely than not.

~

I'd wake not long after, in the comfort of a feather bed. It felt much better than anything I'd had slept on in ages. Alas, as I became better aware of my surroundings, a feeling of anxiety struck me. Like that feeling you have when you oversleep an alarm and wake up only hours later.

Shit...

Why am I here?

"You're finally awake." Arya yawned, sitting at my bedside. "I feared that you'd sleep as long as you did in King's Landing that one time."

Now, that was one long coma...

"How long has it been?" I immediately questioned.

"Only two days and one night. When you didn't wake the day before, your men elected to take you to Winterfell. So... here we are."

I felt much better, doubtless to say. It seems that Raiden forced me to remain unconscious until I had sufficient rest. I was half furious and half grateful as she floated about in the background. She could've at least asked me... well, I probably would've stubbornly refused either way.

"So, it's dark out."

"Mhm." Arya turned to the side, grabbing a bowl containing some disgusting green liquid I had no desire of drinking. "Maester Luwin made this medicine for you. It's been helping you recover so far."

"I... I'm fine." I smiled, shaking my head. "With one more night of rest, I should be well enough to ride at dawn."

"... I'm not wasting it." Arya frowned, nudging closer to me. "You're going to take this medicine. It'll help you, besides."

"... Very well."

I sighed, hoping it was not too bad. I took the bowl and had the slightest of sips. Oh, yes, it was as bad as I had imagined. I wanted to spit it out, probably at Arya (unintentionally), but I restrained myself and went through the misery of this medieval concoction - bit by bit.

Modern medicine is so much better it's not even funny... if only I were a scientific doctor. Unfortunately, that kind of thing is beyond me.

Though, if I worked at my medicine skill tree...

Maybe I could cook something up.

The idea sounds almost fun. Mixing a bunch of shit together, testing its effectiveness. Except I'd probably be misfortunate enough to create a poison instead and end up killing someone by accident...

"Finally." Arya chuckled. "I thought you'd never finish it."

"It tasted wonderful." I smiled bitterly, feeling my stomach churn. "Send Maester Luwin my thanks, if you will. Though... I can't rest quite yet. I'm starving."

"Stay right here. I won't be long."

As she walked out, I'd get out of bed and stretch a bit.

Lightning sparked across my body, and I felt my strength return to me.

Not too long now, Robb... just hold out a while longer.

Though, who am I kidding, you probably have everything under control. If Jon could hold out with the scraps of the Night's Watch for several days, the banners of the North should hold the Wall for as long as needed.

Still, I can't be missing out.

We'd ride out at dawn, as I planned.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 78: Breaking The Ice

[Edric's POV]

There seemed to be a couple of wolf corpses scattered across the field, most of which had taken some arrows. I took a look at my company and saw that no one was wounded.

"Your Grace... did you manage to fend off all of them?" Balon Swann questioned. "Or will there be more? If so, we shall be ready."

"No, the matter has been settled." I shook my head, smiling. "The Warrior smiled upon us all today. Not a single person has been wounded."

"Indeed, it is most fortunate." Lyn Corbray agreed. "Though, I daresay that most of the credit falls to you, Your Grace. The number of howls that came from the forest - I cannot imagine how many of those wolves were present."

"A good bit over a hundred." I gave answer to his curiosity. "The wolves won't trouble us any more, however. Before we leave, it is my wish that none of the corpses are wasted. I want each of them skinned and their furs stored. They will have a use in the future, I am sure."

"As you wish, Your Grace." Brandon Tully nodded. "We won't be long."

I decided to help out with the skinning, having plenty of experience from hunting in Storm's End. After we were done, I finally gave myself some rest for the ride tomorrow.

...

After a day of travelling, a night of training with Raiden Shogun would always follow. She was a strict and entirely merciless teacher, to be sure. Her might was greater than her beauty; I couldn't say how many times I died in each dream.

For some, this might be a nightmare... constantly being butchered. However, I'd rather die a trillion times in my dreams than once in reality. She wanted to see my talents blossom, pushing me endlessly, and I remained ever-determined.

My instincts improved, I got a good deal better with electro, and my overall swordskill also took a step forward.

CLANG.

She cut through my longsword like a piece of paper, half of its blade falling off.

I retreated with two quickened steps.

I'll have to get another one... again.

"While your skill with the longsword is adept, I cannot impart all of my teachings onto such a weapon." Her left hand forged another blade of lightning, tossing it to me. A katana almost identical to hers, only a good bit longer. "From this day forward, you shall train with a sword more fitting."

"... Sure."

It made sense to me. Why learn to wield a longbow from a god specialising in recurve bows?

I took the sword, feeling a spark light up in my body. In an instant, I saw memories of Raiden Shogun's techniques and saw their power first-hand. A serpent deity larger and more terrifying than any beast I'd seen in person, mighty warriors by the thousands and plenty more gods.

If I could master her techniques, the Night King and his great undead army would be no more than a pile of ash at my feet... of that I was certain.

"I made your blade longer due to your size. A longer blade would make better use of your strength, height and length."

Yeah, her blade would look like a toothpick in my hand.

I gave it a few swings. The blade was quick yet decently heavy. Nowhere near my warhammer... but there was weight behind it. Did Raiden Shogun intentionally give this lightning blade weight?

"That is a Nodachi." She explained plainly. "Its use extended past that of slaying mere infantry, being utilised against and even by cavalry. Its long reach will make slaying multiple foes at once more effortless than with your warhammer... should your blade cut sharp enough, that is. With electro infusion, you've cut through armour and men easily enough, at the cost of your own sword."

"... Yeah." The blade had all but melted, remaining solely because of the lightning that took its former shape. "No simple steel can endure that much heat. Though, with Valyrian Steel, maybe..."

But the amount of it that would be required to forge a Nodachi... it's definitely more than a longsword.

Raiden Shogun looked at my status sheet, which was floating about to the side. She stepped closer and cut a line across Smithing, which was a fat old 32. It hadn't improved at all since, well, forever. It was thirty when I first landed in King's Landing, but so much was all happening at once that there wasn't really time for it.

"Yeah, it isn't my best skill."

"Mhm." Raiden gave a sound that echoed 'no shit, Sherlock' to me. "You must forge a blade capable of harnessing your full might, or else you'd be fighting every battle with one hand tied behind your back."

"Fair point…"

"For reaching the peak of the Sniper discipline, you gained superhuman sight and the ability to fire accurately from over a thousand paces. I'd imagine that a completed Smithing tree would more than suffice. That god wouldn't give you Smithing without reason. As I see it, every skill you possess here was given to be mastered and perfected."

"And yet, it would take a year of just smithing to reach its last perk. Mayhaps multiple years…" 

"Maybe." Raiden Shogun looked on with a more stern expression. "It's better than never, however. Would you rather the Night King emerge, and your sword be unable to even cut him? I would advise putting your Summer campaign aside if you worry for time."

If only I could shadow-clone myself.

If I wait too long, my allied prince in the Summer Isles might fall. 

On the other hand, I have no idea when the Night King would strike. It could be next year or in a decade. 

Then again, does it always have to be me at the head of every campaign? I have the finest of commanders at the palm of my hand. But - if it isn't me, the losses will be greater… the idea of chilling (burning) in a forge while men are out there fighting my war didn't sit well with me.

"I'll find a way to do both."

"... I see." She nodded knowingly. "There is much for you to gain from those islands, I suppose. I trust that you will make the right decision. Let us move onto your sword training."

I agreed, feeling a bit more eager than I expected. I always had a soft spot for katanas, so this kind of thing was like an old dream coming true. With Raiden's guidance, perhaps my skill with the sword would eclipse even my bow and warhammer. 

As she continued training me, the barrier between us began to dissipate. 

…

One night, after getting my ass handed to me again, I took the time to sit down beside the tree and decided to explain everything to her. It was only fair as she was doing everything in her power to see me succeed. 

"What is it?" She tilted her head slightly. "You can't tire here."

"It's just… I've been avoiding this rabbit hole like the Seventh Hell." I chuckled, shaking my head. "Though you haven't pushed the matter, I want to clear the clouds and move on. I owe that much to you, at the very least."

"You don't have to." She shook her head. "I have not shared much of my past, either. You have no obligations in this matter."

"Yet I desire to do so."

I began with my introduction to Genshin Impact through a friend, easing into the finer details. I could see her expression when she pieced it all together. It was slightly embarrassing, but I pushed through it.

"My Raiden Shogun had to be top 1000 in the world." I chuckled, shaking my head. "I went to great lengths to maximise her strength. The most satisfying thing of all was the Musou..."

"Musou No Hitachi." She added.

"Yes, the ultimate. The amount of damage I dealt with that was absurd." I remarked. "Alas... that doesn't really matter. The main point is that I knew about you through it."

"It did seem that you knew more about me than you should have." She noted, stroking her chin. "Small wonder."

She didn't seem to have any form of existential crisis. If anything, me sharing this information cheered her slightly.

"So... about you being here because of me." I opened my palm and felt the purple blossoms fall into my grasp. Then, I looked up at her purple gaze. "In a way, it was truly unintentional. Before this second life of mine began, I was treated with a survey by the Targaryen god. The very first question asked me which woman was the most attractive to me... and you could guess my answer."

She observed without a word, listening keenly.

I decided to go on.

"I chose you, naturally, and didn't think too much of it. Then, not too long after I woke as Edric Storm, you came to me." I made a self-mocking smile as I looked away. "All of this started because of my superficial views... because I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever looked upon. It's a rather poor reason to drag someone to another world and chain them to you, wouldn't you agree? Every action that you ever made is, in part, my responsibility."

"Looking it this way... perhaps I've always been the worst of us."

"You didn't know what would come from your answer." She countered, shaking her head. "The being that bound me to you was that silver-haired god."

"Yet... I did choose you." I shrugged my shoulders. "You didn't have a choice in the matter, far less than I ever did."

"If the choice came to me now..." Raiden Shogun sat down beside me, her hand slowly reaching out to my own. "I would have gladly given my old life to meet Edric Storm once more. Once, twice, thrice... a thousand times... so long as the choice came to me, I would always choose you."

She held my hand tightly, closing it.

As her face neared mine, I felt my heart quicken.

Then I felt a surge of cold - waking instantly.

...

"PWOH."

I sat up, waking to a splash of cold water all over my upper body. It dripped down, chilling me from my daze. Immediately, I looked up at Arya Stark, who was carrying a bucket. Gods, I wanted to curse her out.

"What was that for, you brat?" I spat out the water, rising to my feet.

"You said we'd ride at dawn, remember?" Arya raised an eyebrow. "If you wanted to sleep soundly as long as you liked, you should've stayed at King's Landing."

"Could've used a better method to wake me, surely."

"I did shake you, but you didn't react at all. It was more of a last resort..."

"I slept that soundly?"

She nodded.

"Well, I'll be damned." I chuckled, shaking my head. "Anyways, get out of my tent. I need some fresh clothes before I catch a cold."

As we continued North, past the swampy Moat Cailin, the path to Castle Black and the Wall seemed no shorter. The size of the North felt even more absurd than it looked. It made for practically half of the Seven Kingdoms.

No better, it was snowing heavily and began getting colder and colder the further we went North. The occasional breeze of chilling winds did not help either. Before long, I was forced to don my bear fur cloak, which half resembled a onesie.

"Awww you look adorable in that fur."

Arya Stark laughed, pinching the left ear of the hood as I rode. I frowned, looking at the road ahead as I felt my body weaken. Why is it that Arya can be so energetic in such weather conditions? I could scarcely breathe.

"What's wrong... don't tell me the cold is getting to you?"

"What does it look like?"

I sniffled, as my nose became runny. I began to think of better things: the beach, the summer sun and tasty fruits. What I'd give to have Margaery feeding me some fruits in Highgarden... hm, yes, Highgarden would be sweet about now. Who am I kidding - anything would be better than this cold.

Even the dreadful Iron Islands, I fear.

No wonder hardly anyone lives here...

In the Long Night, every place will undoubtedly be just as cold - if not even colder. For years on end, no less. That thought was... chilling.

(Pun most definitely intended.)

I had half a mind to believe the cold was a greater threat than the Night King himself. If a man can't farm, hunt, or find food to eat, he is as good as dead. No undead army is even necessary...

He could just chill at his crib until everyone dies to the awful weather conditions.

"You'll get used to it." Arya smiled reassuringly. "Once you do, it's not so bad. I quite like the cold."

"Must be a great time to be a Stark." I mused.

"You can stand in the rain all day long and get hit by lightning without any wounds to show for it. Nevermind wounds, for that matter, lightning heals you." Arya put it in her perspective, her lips curling into a slight cheeky smile. "Would you trade that for some resistance to cold?"

"No," I managed a laugh. "I would not."

"I thought as much."

I glanced at Melisandre, who seemed entirely unaffected by the cold. If anything, the snow seemed to melt as it landed on her dress.

I might need her assistance sooner rather than later.

Chapter 77: Leading By Example

[Jaime’s POV]

Bowen Marsh was not near hateful enough to misuse a knight of his talents, making Jaime Lannister a ranger rather than a steward or builder. He was the finest raider they had in their ranks, the best swordsman by far and knew just about as much about building as any fish knew about climbing trees. Stewardship was nearly just as terrible and dull. Jaime would’ve considered slipping on his sword a fonder fate than cooking meals, farming, making clothes, counting inventories and providing supplies to mostly poachers, thieves and rapists for the rest of his life.

Though, if his officers commanded it so, he went about his duty.

He would remain at Castle Black, voluntarily teaching new recruits and even more seasoned brothers how to wield a sword properly. He had never been one to train others - always honing his personal skill alone. He learned a little patience in dealing with inexperienced half-wits. 

Not all men had been lawless criminals, Jaime admitted. Some were Targaryen loyalists, some were younger sons of lords seeking glory and honour elsewhere, and other men simply volunteered of their own will. Food and a sense of purpose were enough for some of them.

He had been assistant to Donal Noye on a couple afternoons, aiding the smith as per his duties. The blacksmith didn’t hide his distaste, but he didn’t turn him away. Bowen Marsh enjoyed giving Jaime menial tasks - that was of no debate. However, even though Jaime never took an interest in smithing, the old man was a curious fellow of great experience. A Baratheon man who forged Robert’s Warhammer, the same one that crushed his father’s head. The irony of it all was not lost on him.

He was so fond of metals that the blacksmith could describe men with them. One of those days, he spoke of the Baratheons, comparing Robert to true steel, Stannis to iron and Renly to copper. Given his sound reasoning, Jaime did not disagree.

Though, it made him wonder…

“What metal would you say Edric is?”

“Never met the boy.” Donal Noye kept hammering at his new sword. “That would be a question for you to answer, ser. Were you not the one to knight him?”

“He took after Renly in some ways, shiny and bright. Quick to smile.” Jaime mused, working the grindstone on a dull blade. “Though, he does not lack for strength. He has his father’s steel, as you’d say. The courage to face any foe, the daring to speak his mind and act as boldly as his heart wills. In some ways, he is blunt and sharp, stubborn in his ways, yet in others… it’s hard to say that the King is near the boy I rested my sword upon.”

Valyrian Steel mayhaps, Jaime thought to himself, magical and fatally sharp. However, Valyrian Steel is light, and Edric is anything but that.

“The shape of a metal may change, along with its colour and how it looks on the outside. It may be stronger, weaker, brighter or darker; it may even bend or break. Much can change with time.” Donal Noye said, looking at Jaime. “The metal will remain the same regardless.”

The metal will remain the same, Jaime mused.

“I don’t believe so.” Jaime Lannister said, shaking his head. “A boy can change as easy as the wind; so can a man if there is enough reason for it. I know that best of all - for I did not leave my mother’s womb as the Kingslayer. I need not die as him.”

“The Realm will not forget.” Donal Noye said, eyeing the knight. “Even though the black cloak washes you free of your crimes, no one will ever forget. The stain will remain long past your death.”

“I am not seeking the forgiveness of the Realm,” Jaime said, observing the sword he had sharpened. “I doubt I will ever have it, truth be told. It is a fruitless effort.”

“The black cloak did not dull your pride.”

“It’s not a matter of pride, smith.” Jaime Lannister smiled ever so slightly. “I could beg on my knees until my last breath, and it would never be enough. The best I can do now is make use of my sword here and hope that some song comes of it. An amusing song, doubtless. Shadow of Gold, The Kingslayer’s Last Oath, Lion in the Night... what do you think?”

“Do not forget your vows a third time.” Donal Noye said bluntly, almost scoffing at him. “The men of the Night’s Watch wear no crowns and win no glory. It is a duty without applause, recognition or songs. We die forgotten, our deeds dead in the snow. Only our black brothers remain to sing, and they too, pass on before long.”

Jaime did not disagree, knowing full well just how the Night’s Watch was viewed further down south.

“They do not make for great singers, either.” Jaime humoured himself, chuckling.

The Wall would gain a great surge of volunteers soon enough, all Lannister men. A good forty of them in total, a quarter knights and the rest men at arms. These men had not only fought against the royal army, but they also fought for it in the invasion of the Iron Islands. It would not be wrong to say that they were more battle-ready than most of the Night’s Watch, who had only fought small groups of wildlings at the most.

As they entered, Jaime Lannister unofficially became an officer in all but name... for these men would surely not deny any command of his.

I am not lost to my brother; after all, Jaime smiled as he watched the men enter Castle Black. Some faces were ones that he recognised.

Bowen Marsh and the remaining officers at Castle Black have been deeply suspicious of him ever since, though Jaime did not act any differently. The men would take the black before long and bolster the forces at Castle Black, which had been weakened due to the disastrous Great Ranging. It was said that a great host of wights - dead men living - had killed many a black brother. After that, unsurprisingly, there was a mutiny, and only a few loyalists managed to return.

Jaime Lannister found the idea of wights being more than stories to frighten children quite... sinister. It only strengthened the possibility of the Others being true as well - and what more could lay beyond? What dangers had men before him experienced yet never lived to tell?

In some ways, it gladdened the Lannister. His sword wouldn’t be wasted on wildlings alone. Mayhaps he could find some glory here.

...

“Lord Stark is marching north with a great host of fifteen thousand as we speak.” Bowen Marsha said, rallying all of the fighting men at Castle Black. This included Jaime Lannister. “However, the wildling threat is already upon us. We shall take west, where they are looking for an easy way to get over the Wall. We won’t give them that pleasure.”

If all of the fighting men go west, it leaves Castle Black defended by the sickly and old.

“I do not believe that to be wise.” Jaime Lannister spoke out his thoughts. “The force heading west has to be bait for their true host to attack the Wall without any resistance. If all of the fighting men go west, there will be no one to guard Castle Black and the Wall-”

“You think yourself clever, Kingslayer?” Bowen Marsh raised an eyebrow. “Mance is not half so cunning to think of feinting us. He’s a wildling now, doubtless to say he attacks like them too.”

“We are giving up our advantage to feed theirs.” Jaime Lannister countered. “Castle Black can’t be left defended by the old, crippled and weak.”

“And it won’t be, Kingslayer.” Bowen Marsh looked confident. “If you were listening rather than dreaming of your sister’s dead cunt, you’d have heard that Lord Stark is riding north.”

Jaime Lannister felt the urge to draw his sword and gut Bowen Marsh, where he stood for the insult. No one could stop him; he was sure of it. He would be hanged or executed in some other way - but it would not be much of a price to pay.

His life is not worth mine own, Jaime thought, staying his blade.

“If it is a feint, as you say, Lord Stark will reinforce Castle Black and crush any wildling force that might trouble the Wall. Until then... we must ensure that no part of it is breached by wildlings.”

“Do as you will.” Jaime Lannister scoffed, shrugging his shoulders. “If your Stark is late and the Wall is overrun, the North will just have thousands of wildlings running about - pillaging and raping as they please.”

“Your voice is of little importance, lest you forget.” Bowen Marsh intended to remind him. “You are no Kingsguard, no heir to Casterly Rock, no Lannister, no officer... just a ranger. You’ll do as you’re told and no more.”

An upjumped steward who should have no hand in leading men to war, Jaime thought. His place is in counting coppers, spoons and forks.

“A knight.” Jaime reminded the castellan, knowing that Bowen Marsh had never had the honour. “Few men have that honour in this lot, I believe. It ought to mean something.”

“You are the furthest thing from a knight. Need I remind you of your honour?”

“I am reminded of it each time you speak the title Kingslayer. Yet, do you forget how I became Kingslayer for a second time?” Jaime questioned. “I gave Robert Baratheon his second and final defeat. I fought and led in the Greyjoy’s Rebellion before even that. Out of all of the men who remain, I am the most fit to lead the Watch in this war.”

“Hahahahaha.” Bowen Marsh broke into laughter, supported by a good number of his brothers. “You, lead? I’d sooner grow dragon wings and fly before the Night’s Watch acknowledges you as the voice of highest authority.”

“I thought that all crimes are forgiven once a man takes the black.” Jaime Lannister remarked. “Yet, I am still held up by my past deeds. Alas... do as you will, Lord Steward. Give the wildlings precisely what they want.”

“Heh.” Bowen Marsh scoffed, looking down on him. “Now that you’re done wasting precious time, we can set off and ride west. Or... are you too craven? Is that why you are so set on Castle Black - to hide in it?”

Jaime Lannister did not answer that, deciding his actions would speak for him.

~

The wildlings baited Bowen Marsh with several small raiding parties, leading him further and further west. Jaime Lannister gave no further advice, simply doing as he was told. They chased the wildlings to the Shadow Tower and beyond, into the Gorge.

Hundreds of wildlings had gathered there, seeking to pass the Bridge of Skulls. The Night’s Watch outnumbered them by at least a hundred, however. Jaime would lead the charge, carving a bloodied path through the poorly armed wildlings. He was not one to lack for courage... not in the least. He did not value his life at all, which, alongside his physical strength, speed, and skill with the sword, made for a frightening combination.

Battle... for the first time in a long time, he felt alive.

He’d parry one wildling, tossing his axe to the side, and open his gut with one swift stab - his blood flowing out like a broken dam. Another would angrily attack from his left, swinging a giant axe. Jaime would step to the side and effortlessly slash open his neck with a swift counter.

Another came - Jaime grabbed his assailant’s armed hand and twisted it. The man screamed in pain while Jaime turned him around and stabbed into his back. Afterwards, he shoved his bleeding body to the ground.

The wildlings were nothing more than cattle waiting to be slain, no matter how many came at him.

He considered himself the best swordsman alive... and no one on that field was proving him wrong.

His brothers rallied behind his valiant charge, all of the scorn of the ‘Kingslayer’ washing away in the heat of battle. At this moment, he was their leader. The Lion leading them to victory.

In time, he came across a tall, strong and strange wildling with a steel scythe who had killed a dozen black brothers. Jaime Lannister believed him to be the leader of this pack of wildlings, making his way through the wildlings and towards him.

“Golden crow... come face me!”

He shares my thoughts, Jaime grinned slightly. That awful weapon will do you no favours against me, wildling.

The wild man swung his giant and impractical scythe, but Jaime deflected its long edge and dashed towards him. The man would step back - trying to distance himself - but he was too slow. Jaime was like a flash of lightning, his sword chopping off the man’s right hand and the left. The scythe clattered to the ground.

Afterwards, he slashed open his chest, carved open his neck and gave him one final penetrating stab for good measure.

With the man Jaime later realised to be the famed ‘Weeping Man’ fallen, the warband of wildlings collapsed and retreated.

Death has escaped me, Jaime thought as he cleaned his bloodied blade and sheathed it.

...

The battle had been won, and not long after, riders came with word that Castle Black was preparing for an attack from the south by a band of wildlings that had scaled the Wall. In the worst case, they would be attacked from north and south at the same time. Jaime Lannister had the most shit-eating grin you could imagine as he looked at the silent Bowen Marsh. He was overflowing with the energy of ‘I told you so’.

“We ride for Castle Black at once!”

Raiden's Storm Chapter 76: Queen Of The Pack

[Edric’s POV]

“Be careful on your journey North, my dear nephew.” 

Renly embraced me, patting my shoulder as he withdrew.

I smiled reassuringly, shaking my head.

“Who do you think I am, uncle? I’ve fought worse than a pack of wildlings.”

“I had a bear cloak fashioned just for you.” Renly turned to the side, and Ser Loras presented it to me. It was grey and large, big enough even for me. “In truth, it was your father’s when he journeyed North. Since he has no use for it and you are his size, I feel it is only fitting. Besides that, I believe he would have wanted you to wear it.”

Of course, I had furs of my own… but it was a gracious gift nonetheless. I’d assume you could never be too warm in the North - especially the Wall.

“It is cold up North, undoubtedly,” Tyrion added, having prepared his warmest clothing. He once said to me that even wearing furs on top of furs wasn’t enough to dull the chilling winds. “You would be wise to take it, Your Grace. One can never have too many furs up North.”

Renly gave the dwarf the side eye, or rather a downwards side eye.

“Thank you, uncle. I shall don it when the cold starts getting to me.”

I took the fur and added it to my collection. General Grievous might have his lightsabers, but I have pretty much all of the fur the known world has to offer… except the white lion. Hrakkar, those lions are called.

If I ever live to explore the Dothraki Sea, I’d need to get one of those.

“Serve the wildlings only steel.” Stannis added, nodding solemnly. “Do not show them any mercy, for they are a lawless, savage people. Do not allow a single one to pass the Wall, Your Grace.”

I nodded, though no promises were made. There was a chance at a more peaceful, diplomatic resolution. If not… then I would have to burn them all.

Otherwise, I’d be leaving the Night King with quite the gift.

We would depart in the afternoon after Harrold Arryn’s wedding, riding hastefully. We didn’t have any wagons and carried supplies on horseback. My company was about fifty people, mostly comprised of the kights and fighting men sworn to me.

Such a force was formidable enough to trample any random band of outlaws and yet fast enough to reach Winterfell in good time. Robert Baratheon had taken near two moons on the way to Winterfell and eighty days on the way back, but that’s only because of the terribly slow double-decked wheelbarrow that kept breaking down.

As for me, it should take about thirty days, maybe thirty-five.

…

The days would pass as we rode on the Kingsroad, making use of inns and holdfasts whenever fitting. In a few days we passed Darry and stayed in the Crossroads Inn before continuing the journey. Apparently, there had been a great surge of wolves in recent times.

The countryside always felt refreshing to me - I could never tire of it. The fields of green, wildflowers, forests, hills, caves, rivers, lakes, farms, villages and communities of good, honest men and women. There was none of the stench of King’s Landing.

A part of me just wanted to ride off into the horizon, going wherever the wind took me. Alas, I knew better than that.

We’d make camp to the side of the Kingsroad, a day’s riding from Darry, under the shelter of a forest. I provided a bit of electro sparkling for the fire, and all seemed well.

Then night came in earnest.

“It’s eerie today.” Dallin remarked, observing the fog. “What’s that noise… is it a wolf’s howl?”

“I don’t hear a thing.” Ragnor mused. “The innkeeper told you that story of the monstrous she-wolf and her pack of hundreds of wolves, and now you’ve begun imagining things, eh, Dallin? Stop worrying about it.”

“Or you might just be deaf, Ragnor.”

“I hear good enough.” Ragnor protested. 

“It’s Nymeria. My direwolf.” Arya interjected, looking as anxious as she was excited. She looked towards me. “We have to find her.”

“Do we?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow. “How certain are you that the wolf is yours - do you even know where to look? I don’t believe we have the time to hunt for your direwolf, unfortunately. Mayhaps on the way back…”

“Surely a few hours won’t bring the Wall down. Besides, aren’t you a good scout? It might take even less than that.”

“... If this pack did exist, looking for it would be too great of a risk as that would leave the camp vulnerable.” I added, shaking my head. “Everyone will stay put.”

Arya didn’t take too kindly to my reply.

Dallin looked somewhat relieved and so did Sansa. The men at the Crossroads Inn sure do like to talk. ‘There’s this great pack of them, hundreds, man-killers. The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell.’ one of them had said.

I whistled for Freedom and it flew over to my hand, in all its white majesty. Afterwards, I paced towards Arya and smiled.

“I’ll look for her, alright? If anything... urgent happens, wake me.”

She blinked confusedly before glancing at the falcon and realising what I meant.

“Alright.” She nodded. “I will.”

I’d take a ‘nap’ against a tree and made use of Freedom, skinchanging into it and flying about the forest in search of these wolves. With the keen eyes of the falcon, I could see every little thing from miles away. At closer distances, I even saw insects crawling about and droplets of rain. It was not too long before I saw the first trails that resembled that of a wolf’s... and it was not just one, no, it was at least a couple dozen footprints.

I followed along the trail with great speed and saw the source of it before long; a huge cave in the middle of a hill with packs of wolves gathering as if they were a host. I had never seen so many wolves in one place. There had to be at least fifty prowling outside, with more inside of the cave...

Now, I had little doubt that the leader of this army of wolves was Nymeria, though I wanted to see her first. They began to howl and move from the cave in packs - in the direction of the camp. I kept an eye on them, watching the wolves run out in droves.

Then I saw her, this ‘bitch from the Seventh Hell’. Its golden eyes stared at me as I rested on a tree branch. She was far larger than all the others, and her grey fur reminded me of Robb’s Grey Wind. Even her eyes were of a similar colour.

We shared eyecontact for a couple seconds before the direwolf turned away, sprouting into a sprint.

It seemed to smell something appealing, advancing swifter than any other. Before long, she was at the head of the pack.

Sure, my company could handle any outlaws, but I didn’t consider so many wolves... there was at least a hundred of them.

If we were to be surrounded by such a group, I wouldn’t be able to protect everyone - especially in a forest.

I returned to my own body, immediately drawing out my dragonbone bow. This act alone woke the camp into action.

“What’s wrong, Your Grace?” Ser Balon questioned.

“My lady was right; we have a direwolf on our hands and at least a hundred wolves to add. Everyone, take to the open field. Don’t leave anything behind.”

I mounted my black destrier, who had been happier of late. The stallion did have that one night where I gave him away to a stable and let him do his thing as promised.

“Arya, come with me.” I rode to her, offering my hand.

She took it, and I lifted her up with swift ease, saddling her in front of me.

“Your Grace, that’s the wrong way...”

“I shall meet the pack first.” I determined, smiling at my group of men. “All you lot have to do is protect Lady Sansa in case there are any strays.”

“No wolf will come so close as to take a strand of her hair.” Brynden Tully replied, nodding. Afterwards, he turned to the men. “What are you all waiting for... summer? Do as the King says; take the supplies and rally at the Kingsroad!”

Brynden Tully’s battlefield voice quickened the men, who acted swiftly. I turned to Arya, riding in the opposite direction.

“Now, let’s hope your direwolf is as fond of you as you are her.”

“Nymeria wouldn’t hurt me,” Arya replied, shaking her head. After a moment of silence, she continued. “I’ve... had dreams of it. Dreams where I was Nymeria, bigger than any one of them, stronger, swifter, faster. We would hunt in large packs, feasting on cows, sheep, horses...”

She paused, though I had an inclination as to what she might’ve said.

“I see.” I nodded, feeling rather conflicted. “Your direwolf has gone rather wild. This enormous pack of wolves isn’t doing the Riverlands any favours.”

“Are you... going to kill her?”

“Not unless you want me to.” I patted her head. “Though, I won’t make any promises on the rest of the pack.”

My horse seemed a little unsettled. No doubt, the stallion sensed a direwolf. Their scent always frightened horses - sometimes driving them mad with panic. My boy remained decently composed, however.

I took an arrow, using my keen eyesight, a boon from mastering the sniper discipline. Wolves emerged from the bushes in packs, sprinting forward. I hurried my horse in a retreat while I turned to face the wolves, swiftly readying an arrow and letting it fly.

The first pierced the wolf’s skull and rendered him dead.

This would make for good training, I thought to myself.

Hyper-focus.

The wolves were quick, quicker than my horse was. Time slowed to near a standstill as I slowly readied my arrow and fired off at the nearest of the bunch. I took out a few more before my concentration wore off and time continued at a normal pace.

They were circling around, no doubt aiming to encircle me.

I would take out a few more, though missing far more arrows than I hit. It was difficult to get it right with the speed of the wolves, my horse nudging unsteadily, the sheer size of my dragonbone longbow, and Arya being in the way.

Worst-case scenario, I’d have to rely on Storm Magic to fend them off.

And I did - using lightning-infused arrows to shock packs off with a chain of lightning while retreating off into the open field. I had slain at least sixty of them, yet they continued coming in. They were as fierce and fearless as any pack I had ever known.

Then, the loudest howl of them all froze the wolves still. I kept an arrow at the ready, stopping my horse a good enough distance away.

The direwolf emerged from the forest, its golden eyes gleaming like coins of gold in the moonlight.

“Nymeria...”

Before I knew it, Arya had jumped off my horse and ran to her side. The fall almost injured her but she kept running. I sighed, keeping a close eye on her.

She would stop half-way as one of the wolves snarled at her, a pair of hungry hazel eyes looking upon her as prey.

Nymeria pounced the smaller wolf and dug its massive teeth and claws into it, tearing the beast apart as if it were a lamb or a chicken. Harmless, easy prey. It bit its entire neck off before spitting it to the ground. The rest of the wolves thought for a second time about attacking Arya.

Nymeria was thrice as wild and vicious as Grey Wind, perhaps even twice as large. She was, indeed, monstrous... not at all a pet.

Yet, Arya Stark had no fear for her. She approached with slight caution, but not nearly enough that befits a direwolf.

“Nymeria.” She spoke out. “It’s me, Arya.”

The direwolf, its mouth fresh with blood, looked on. Its eyes seemed to gleem with a certain sadness. Arya raised her hand and caressed the direwolf’s fur, stroking it gently. A strong, cold, breeze of wind went over the field.

“Come with me, to the North. You could see Greywind, Shaggydog and Ghost, they’re all up there.”

Nymeria would step back, glaring at me. I felt that, for a moment, I’d have to break my word.

She looked away and turned to her pack, walking back to the forest. Arya remained still, her brown hair swaying with the wind. She lowered her hand, looking at the retreating pack. I put down my bow and returned the arrow into its quiver, riding towards her slowly.

I had half a mind to slay them all, so that these wolves wouldn’t cause anyone further trouble. Yet, knowing what the direwolf meant to Arya, I didn’t.

“Well?” I questioned. “You found her.”

“We did.” Arya turned to me, teary-eyed. Despite her sadness, she managed to smile. “Nymeria... she found her home. Her new brothers and sisters, maybe even children, and so many of them, too...”

“... That, she did.”

“It’s not like her to come back to me.” She shook her head. “It... will never be the same as it was, and that’s... okay. She’s happier that way.”

She took a deep breath, letting go.

“It’s where she truly belongs.”

For some reason, that struck a cord in my heart. I did not know the beast, yet I felt so strongly about what I had seen.

The direwolf had found her family and couldn’t return to the way things used to be. Nymeria is wild, untamed, and free - like the girl who onced adopted her. She had become a leader amongst her kind and would never truly fit Arya’s life the way she would have wanted.

“Let’s go back to the others.”

I offered my hand and Arya took it.

“That would be for the best. You’ll need some rest after that battle.”

“Me?” I scoffed. “I could’ve slain them all without breaking a sweat.”

“But you did break a sweat.”

“That was the rain...”

“Right.” She chuckled, wiping her eyes. “Help me up already.”

“Of course, my lady.”

I lifted her up on my horse, and we returned to the others.

{Author's note}

The Freys will have to wait till the way back, since they're a good way's off the Kingsroad, and it wouldn't really make sense to visit them.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 75: Wedded And Bedded

[Edric's POV]

Even when she was as opaque as any other person, Raiden Shogun seemed ethereal as ever. Her piercing, dark, purple eyes glowed as beautifully as a distant dream. Together, they birthed a purple paradise that lured me into an eternal slumber.

I caught myself falling into a daze, shaking my head to break out of it.

"How is it?" I questioned, regaining focus. "Do you feel… alive?"

"I had forgotten that feeling." Raiden Shogun mused, observing her surroundings. "Or perhaps, I never knew what it meant to be alive even as I lived… for I had only been created as a tool for Raiden Ei, the true Shogun and God of Eternity."

"You don't wear her shackles anymore." 

"I always have, Edric Storm. Even as I was separated from her." She looked indifferent, yet I felt a sadness in her eyes. "The cage of her design is not something I can break out of. I was created with a set list of rules which could not be altered nor broken, or so I thought, until… you changed that."

She continued without interruption.

"These feelings that I harbour for you should have never come to be, and yet they exist." She shook her head. "When I struck Alysanne dead, it had been my nature to act that way. To be ruthless and smite down any obstacles in the way of eternity… there was no room for mercy or kindness in my heart. It was the way that I had been created."

I knew that some of what she said was true. In many ways, it was… tragic.

"... It is no excuse, Edric." Her purple hair swayed in the wind. "I truly do not expect your forgiveness on the account of my nature. My actions, in the end, are my own, and I shall bear the guilt that comes with all of them."

"That is the best thing you can do," I nodded, not wanting to linger in the past and search old wounds. "You must know this place well, no?"

"Though its appearance is similar... this plane is different." Raiden Shogun shook her head. "It seems to be far vaster - and I sense... other existences."

"Other existences?" I blinked, looking beyond the horizon. There seemed to be only an endless barren land with those shinto gates scattered all over. A wasteland toned in grey, black and red. "I suppose exploring couldn't hurt-"

"No." Raiden Shogun shook her head. "We shall stay here."

I raised an eyebrow.

A sword of lightning materialised in her hand. A physical sword that glowed with divinity.

She pointed her sword to the side, where a messy hill of countless weapons stood behind me. There were other things, too, like gold dragons, waterskins and the Blackfyre-styled armour. It didn't take me long to realise that these were all the things I had stored up.

"Take your weapon of choice."

"... Are we sparring?" 

"Don't you feel any sense of humiliation? You were bested by that god even when he lowered himself to your level of strength. Not only were you bested, you did not even last a moment." She pointed her blade at me. "Will you be so quick to accept defeat against your Night King?"

"I'm sure one is far inferior to the other," I remarked, choosing to draw the sword at my side.

"Then you should not take a fight you cannot win." She countered. "Do you seek triumph, or are you content with defeat?"

"You should know the answer to that."

"Then prove it."

I stepped forward with an overhead swing, which she blocked with ease. It was strange, clashing with someone stronger than me. It was like me attacking some malnourished peasant... except I was the malnourished peasant against a god.

She pushed me back and flashed forward with deadly speed. She went for the head.

Using hyper-focus, I managed to escape the attack with only a small cut on the cheek. Or so... I thought.

In less than an instant, a terrible gash across my entire body was cut, which was followed by several more slashes all over. Though it was supposed to be a 'dream", I felt all the pain that came with it. I fell to the ground, powerless, as the surge of lightning paralysed me.

"Lightning strikes twice." She told me, tilting her head slightly. "Would you wish to learn how to do that?"

I groaned slightly, watching the gash close on itself. It did not take long for me to get back on my feet. Looks like my healing factor here was on a whole different plane.

"You know, that's one way to advertise a move... almost kill the person you intend to teach," I remarked.

"You cannot die here." She countered.

"I noticed." I looked at my sword. "So, how do I perform that?"

"We start with the basics first. What do you consider your greatest advantage in a duel?"

"Hyper-focus, if I had to choose... or lightning if we're including magic."

"Indeed, they are great tools at your disposal." She nodded in agreement. "Alas, there is one that you looked over. It's written all over your banners everywhere you look."

"Fury?"

"With fury comes your true strength." She nodded. "It is then that the skies shift in your favour; when rain falls, wind surges and lightning erupts ever so easily. Anger gives rise to your physical attributes as well, making you swifter and each blow mightier. It is fury that heightens your prowess in battle, whether physical, spiritual or elemental." 

"Fury can lead to irrational decisions, however," I argued. "It can be as much of a disadvantage as it is a strength. Unless… I can control it."

"Precisely; if you can erupt in a frenzy at will, yet be able to channel that fury with absolute focus - then you would know no equal in your plane. You would act decisively, without much time for thought, yet not irrationally. The perfect warrior."

Mastering both forms of battle instincts and using them simultaneously… of course, this was something I had already experienced in part yet haven't been able to replicate. 

"I suppose you're hinting at my rampage in Mistwood." 

"You are right. Fury is in your blood, yet your mindset in battle is to be strategic and calculating, therefore suppressing its effects rather than using both in tandem." She raised her sword effortlessly. "For the time that we do have until you wake… try erupting in fury."

It was easier said than done… finding that balance. I stopped counting how many times she kicked my ass around. Either I wasn't angry enough or that anger blinded me. Though, I was starting to learn to better fight her blows.

"You've adapted to my attacks somewhat." She remarked. "Your movements are sharper as well. Good - you shouldn't waste your energy on any unnecessary actions."

She really was taking the whole teacher role in earnest…

I appreciated it, of course. It was the one way she could support me as she had no power over the outside world. Being the original source of my magic, someone who had a great deal more experience and an observer of my every fight, she knew far better than I did in many aspects.

"At this rate, it won't be too long until I surpass you." I japed, engulfing my sword in lightning.

"You are still a thousand years too young to make such declarations."

No way she humbled me with a line you'd hear in a CN. 

"I'm an early bloomer."

She smiled slightly.

"Shall I shatter your confidence once more?"

"I'm afraid that isn't feasible."

Resolve and confidence was not much different from fury, so I found. If I lacked in both, I'd be weaker. I needed to believe I was on par to stand my ground for even a moment.

Delusion of greatness… till you make it up there.

~

I woke up feeling like absolute shit, which wasn't too shocking. After the adrenaline and wine wore off, all the soreness from Loras' blows came out of hiding. I decided to walk it off.

I asked him before our match to perform at his best, making a jestful remark that I'd send him to the Wall if he didn't. I was paying the price for it today… though it wasn't anything I couldn't handle. 

After fourteen days of tournaments, competitions and feasting, Harold Arryn's wedding began at last. All the lords had been in attendance at the procession, riding to the Sept of Baelor steadily. Harold wore his best drip while his wife-to-be wore a fine white gown. 

Yohn Royce would walk his daughter over to the groom, removing his house's cloak so that Harold could drape an Arryn cloak of his own over her. This act signified the passing of protection from father to husband.

They would kiss and make their vows, before the High Septon declared them to be "one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."

Considering it was a match I made as consolation for Yohn Royce and his daughter, it seems to be going more than well. The leap from the fourth son of a lord to the Lord Paramount is no small thing, while Harrold gets legitimacy by marrying the daughter of the old and powerful House Royce. The court of the Vale seems to be taken by him, too. 

Sweet Robin was an insignificant price to pay for such a result.

Another night of feasting followed, where Harrold Arryn and Ysilla Royce cut open the wedding pie from which a dozen birds sprouted. It was a strange tradition… what if the birds shit inside of the cake? I ain't eating that, respectfully.

After having my fill from the feast, I went on my routine of chatting around.

The first was the man of the hour himself.

"I have you to thank for all of this, Your Grace." Harrold modestly lowered his head. His lips curled into a charming smile. "In your honour, I'd wish to name my firstborn son Edric Arryn."

"That is a great honour, indeed." I nodded, smiling. "May the Gods grant you that son sooner than late."

"As we have their Chosen Son's blessing, it will not be long." Ysilla Royce added, looking at her husband with glittering eyes. 

How endearing… bar any accidents; they will have many children, I'm sure.

"That was my idea." Mya approached, pouting slightly. "Wasn't it, Mychal?"

He was not too far behind.

"Indeed, we also sought to name our firstborn son Edric…"

Something tells me the number of babies being named Edric will skyrocket…

"There can never be too many Edric's." I laughed, shaking my head. "Name them away."

"How about a competition, Ser Mychal?" Harrold Arryn proposed, looking certain of himself. "Whoever has a son first, claims that honour."

"A silly competition." I chuckled, though my sister and brother-by-law looked determined.

"We are agreed, Lord Arryn." Mychal smiled, looking to Mya. "I believe we began the race early, however."

"May the Gods choose who is triumphant." Harrold smiled, raising a cup of wine as a toast.

"Yes, my lord."

Afterwards, I'd do some more socialising with the people who weren't as fond of me like the lords from the Westerlands and Iron Islands. I couldn't tell who disliked me more as I had killed a great many knights and highborn in the Battle of the Fords while I went on a purge in the Iron Islands.

Some had benefited from my actions as they climbed the ladder of succession, even going so far as to compliment me. 

Eventually, Margaery Tyrell found me.

"Care for a dance, Your Grace?"

"Sure." 

I courteously obliged. 

She moved as gracefully as ever, making my sober self look incompetent. Funnily enough, getting drunk makes me more coordinated in such activities - or so people tell me. 

"I have pleasant news to share, Your Grace."

"Oh?"

Margaery danced at a slow and steady pace as if to compliment me. 

"Maester Gormon has reason to believe that I am with child."

I smiled. Of course.

"That is splendid news." I held her hand gently. "I shall pray to the Mother for your good health and a beautiful child."

"I am certain it will be a blessed child." Her large brown eyes looked directly at me, almost in a suggestive manner. Her lips curled into a smile as we continued dancing. "After all, it is your child."

"I heard about your bet with Arianne." I changed the topic slightly. "Is it true that you'll be returning to High Garden?"

"Will you miss me, Your Grace?" She tilted her head slightly. "You would always be welcome to visit, if you so wished."

"I'm afraid that there is a great many duties I must fulfil before I can think of such luxuries."

"You should not burden yourself so much." She took a look of concern. "Your journey North is not so necessary; Lord Robb should be competent enough to defend the Wall from some wildlings on his own."

"How can I not act while a foreign force invades my Realm?" I countered. "Since everyone was so insistent on this tournament, I made it a grander affair, yes… but make no mistake, I would have much rather rode North if not for Lord Harrold's wedding."

"Besides, it is an opportunity to see the Wall's defences firsthand and strengthen my authority in the distant North."

"For the Others, is it?" Margaery remarked. 

"You know about them?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Word spreads swiftly in these parts, Your Grace. I have heard a word or two of your plans."

"I see…" I nodded. "It's all for them. If they succeed, there is no future to speak of."

"The Realm could not ask for a mightier King to fend them off, in that case."

After we finished, I wished her well and decided to kick the newlyweds into action.

"May I have everyone's attention?"

"Be silent, the King is speaking!" One of my knights shouted with a booming voice.

A group of men slammed their cups in response to my request, silencing all the noise.

"Lord Arryn and his wife have said their vows, we have feasted, danced and sung in their name. There is but one thing left to do, my lords and ladies..."

"To bed!"

"To bed!"

"To bed!"

Like hungry dogs that found a fresh bone to pick, the entire hall erupted - mostly the men. However, I'd be lying if I said the ladies weren't looking just as eager. 

"Agreed." Harrold rose from his seat. "This splendid night should not be wasted."

"To bed, it is!"

I said, clapping my hands.

The men carried off Ysilla Royce, who had been charged with the burdensome duty of disrobing her. They enjoyed it very much, from the look of things. The men spoke vulgar, suggestive jokes about her body and what awaited her.

As for Harrold Arryn, he had similar treatment, except it was from the ladies instead. That man was having the time of his life.

I didn't partake in it, watching from afar.

It was not a tradition that I was particularly fond of. The day I allow another man to disrobe my wife is the day that I'm dead. Alas, everyone seems to be having a good time, so I won't spoil their fun.

~

"Looks like you won't be riding North anytime soon."

He had remained in his bed, still looking weary. Though, his eyes shined as brightly as ever.

"I… can manage." He showed his 'strength' by rolling to the side and slowly sitting up.

"No." I refused, shaking my head. "Rest your body, Arthur. You would only slow us down. Besides, I have need of you here."

"Is that so?" He blinked, raising an eyebrow. "What would you have me do?"

"The greens who came with us from Storm's End - I want you to train them. Prepare them for battle." 

"... I see." Arthur nodded.

"It's a good source of experience for you, too. You are an excellent and dedicated learner in the ways of war… but can you teach it to others? Consider it a test of leadership."

"I won't fail you." He shook his head. "They'll be ready for any sort of battle required once you return."

"Good." I smiled, nodding. "Also… while you recover, you'll get time to practice your penwork. If I recall, you considered it subpar."

"Aye…" He chuckled. "You are most considerate, Your Grace."

"Indeed, I am, Ser Arthur. You are fortunate to have a great King like me." I spoke with a jestful tone.

"You are not wrong."

~

As I returned to my bedchamber, Rhaerra was standing not too far from the door. 

"There you are." I remarked. "You're being oddly stingy with that mask."

"I didn't wish to steal the attention away from your Queen of Love and Beauty… nor today's bride." She slowly removed her mask and hood, revealing a face that was truly stunning. Her long silver hair swayed free while a pair of enchanting violet eyes stared into mine. "Here is your mask, champion."

Her beauty was no jest, eclipsing every other I had seen… except one. Since I was so used to being around a goddess, it wasn't something that caught me in a daze.

"Why hide such beauty?"

"I would prefer being valued for traits other than my appearance. It is a matter of little consequence to me." She shrugged her shoulders. "Men tend to only value what they see. If there is nothing to see, then they will be less blind to other things."

"That is not something exclusive to men." I chuckled, shaking my head. "The first impression will always be what you see. You shouldn't be so ashamed of your beauty. It's a gift that makes many things easier… I'm sure you know."

"Regardless, I ask of you to bestow me with a greater role in your court. It is my desire to contribute to your reign."

"Oh?" I stroked my chin. "Mayhaps I could use a woman of your talents…"

After settling some matters and preparations, my cold and harsh journey North would begin.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 74: Night of Song

[Edric's POV]

Returning to the Red Keep with a horde of admirers certainly was something. The streets were filled to the brim with smallfolk trying to get a closer glimpse. I took the longer way atop my destrier, accompanied by an honour guard and gold cloaks at every turn. With how they cheered for me, you would've thought I had already caved the Night King into oblivion.

I could almost blush, truth be told.

The Red Keep was just as welcoming, with all manner of lords and ladies praising my performance.

"What a glorious day for my nephew, the King!" Renly was chief amongst them, bearing the look of a proud uncle as he tightly embraced me. He smiled and turned to the court, ruffling my hair. "The Gods could not have chosen a more worthy champion to reign over the greatest tournament that has ever been!"

"This day shall be sung for centuries to come!"

There was a resounding roar of agreement as a toast was shared in my name. Renly removed his hand and turned to me, gesturing for me to speak.

"It is a grand day, indeed." I smiled, nodding as I scanned my gaze across the court. Harrold Arryn smiled as I looked at him. "This grand tournament was a celebration of our Realm's great knights, warriors and even those of foreign lands. A breath of fresh air as the restoration of the King's Peace was complete and all Seven Kingdoms returned to the fold."

A word from our sponsor...

I grabbed a cup of wine. One wouldn't hurt today.

"But... let us not forget that none of this would've been possible without our Lord Arryn, Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East, who played a great part in its realisation. Not only had it been his idea, but he also funded half of it straight out of the Vale's treasury."

I raised my cup, and everyone in the Great Hall followed.

"Let us share a toast to Lord Harrold of House Arryn, the Vale, Ysilla Royce and his grand marriage to come!"

Another round of cheers followed as those around Harrold Arryn congratulated him. Several more toasts followed, one for the Kingsguard, another for the lords who travelled to King's Landing and one last one for the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Afterwards, all settled down, and the feast began. I wasn't eating too gracefully, my stomach becoming an endless void that took every plate of food in sight. Arya had been glowing, all smiles and joyous laughter.

I had never seen her so happy... to think that a wreath of flowers could mean so much.

Once, all I had ever sought was love, someone to bring light to a world that was tearing me apart. I thought that someone could come along and fix everything, make me happy and fulfilled - yet that could only ever happen in a dream. Life was most certainly not a dream.

Only I could make the most of myself. If I stood still and let the waves take me, I'd be nowhere again, and no amount of pulling could reel me back on track.

As for that feeling I had twice... it had been lost to me. It was beautiful, yet twice as dreadful when it faded. Such is love... something I had given up on.

There were more important things in life, I had decided. More important things than even myself. My actions reflected on the lives of millions of people; that is the burden a King must carry. Besides that, there were other things I could find joy in.

Arya… I've been cold to her. Negligent. Our relationship had been rocky, at the best of times. At first, I defiantly objected the notion, then I played along with the intention of severing if something far more compelling fell to me and finally... I came to accept it.

If she had been closer to my actual age, it would've been easier for me - for us. Alas, nothing in this world was perfect. One day, Arya would be a woman-grown, as they say... and my wife.

Her joy was more important than my temporary discomfort.

I took another cup, savouring the taste.

"I thought you would never drink wine again." Arya raised an eyebrow at me.

"Why, I'm celebrating this joyous occasion." I smiled, shrugging my shoulders. "Besides, I have a high tolerance for such things. A few cups of this weak wine won't do much more than brighten my mood."

Now Stag's Fury, on the other hand...

I finished the cup and placed it down, looking at Arya. The wreath fit her head almost perfectly, a mix of flowers in my two favourite colours; purple and gold. I would've gotten one with blue winter roses instead, but they didn't have any in King's Landing. No idea how that Rhaegar Targaryen got his hands on them from Harrenhal. To his credit, he must've planned way ahead... or it might be something that happened because the plot wanted it to.

"It would not look good if the King couldn't stomach more than water, is that right?" Arya added.

"That's another point, I suppose." I nodded. "It's... like leading your men into battle. If I don't drink, then why should they? It dulls the celebration, in a way. Buuut, if matters do get out of hand, I have my trusted hound to bark everyone away. Trust me, he's the finest man around for that duty. He scares alll the ladies away."

"I don't doubt that." Arya had a bite of her food.

"You could also guard my bedchamber with your little needle," I added, chuckling.

"I have faith in you." She replied, smiling. "Enough not to watch under your bed."

"How fitting for the future queen to be named the Queen of Love and Beauty by the triumphant King, who bested all the challengers in his path."

Mychel Redfort approached with a smile alongside his newly-wed wife. I nodded, turning to him.

"It is something you'd hear in a song, no?"

"Indeed, Your Grace."

"I heard rumours that you were not fond of your betrothal before." Mya Stone, now Redfort, remarked as she looked at Arya. I do recall stating my distaste in a sarcastic manner. "My worries were left unfounded, sweet brother. I believe actions speak louder than words, and you showed your love with the Realm as witness."

She had not said it in a non-mocking manner, being completely sincere.

“We hope to attend your marriage when it comes.” Mychel Redfort bowed his head courteously. "If you would have us, of course-"

"Pfft." I laughed. "Why would I deny my brother-by-law? You are welcome to my court whenever you fancy."

"I thank you for your hospitality."

“It will be a day of endless joy and love, I am sure." Mya turned to me, ruffling my hair. "No one is more worthy of love than my sweet brother.”

“Don’t say it like that, Mya.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “It's far too embarrassing.”

“I only speak the truth.” Mya retreated, looking towards her husband. "Am I wrong?"

“His Grace has a giant-sized heart of gold; he will find love wherever he walks.” Mycah smiled, affirming. “His Grace and Lady Arya Stark look joyous on this day, and I have no doubt that joy will blossom into a profound bond of love as the years go by.”

"How poetic." I chuckled, glancing at Mya. "Have you turned Ser Mychel into a singer?"

"Amusingly enough, it is one of his newest interests..." Mya shrugged.

"You can sing, Ser?" I asked, amused. "Let us hear your voice."

"Ah..." Mychel Redfort chuckled nervously. "It is a work in progress, Your Grace... I have yet to hone my skills. They are unworthy of a King's ears."

"I decide what's worthy and unworthy." I shook my head. "Go on, don't be shy. I won't shame you for trying."

"It is treason to deny a King's command, you know." Mya added with a smile, patting his back.

"... I dare not." Mychal Redfort cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

"In a realm of myths and tales, where heroes never die,"

His voice sounded quite good; I don't know what he was so insecure about.

"A sovereign rides the dawn, beneath the boundless sky."

"With eyes of steely blue, and a heart so pure and bright,"

"He stands the mightiest of all, the King of Knights."

Oh, the King of Knights? The irony is not lost on me.

"With honor in his heart, and justice in his hand,

He roams the endless fields, to free the shadowed land.

No challenge ever falters, no darkness stands his might,

He is the light, the King of Knights."

I remained quiet, letting him cook.

"Oh, King of Knights, your glory ever reigns,

Through battles fought and won, your legacy remains.

With courage like a storm, and valour in your veins,

Oh, King of Knights, we'll sing your name."

He paused, stopping.

"As I said... it's a work in progress."

Mychal scratched his hair.

"How wonderful." I clapped my hands several times, turning to Arya. "What do you think?"

"It's fitting, though his voice cracked a few times." Arya shrugged. "He's better than some of the singers here."

"I am honoured." Mychal nodded.

"Let me add to your song." I stood up from my seat with a raised finger, feeling quite gregarious. It was no doubt the wine. "Hmm... I know. In halls of ancient stone, where echoes of... legends... no, heroes, resound. He yearns for peace and love, by the sea's calming winds. But... duty calls him forth, to realms both near and far. With winds of hope to guide, he rides for a distant dream."

"... I didn't know you were a singer, too." Mya blinked with surprise.

"Give Edric some wine, and he can grow wings." Arya jested.

"It's... perfect, Your Grace." Mychal praised.

"Please, don't be afraid to be honest." I chuckled, shaking my head. "It wasn't perfect."

"Well, it might need a few changes, but it fits... I thank you for your insight, Your Grace."

"You're most welcome, brother."

"Is that my King's singing, I hear?" Harrold Arryn joined the party, patting Mychal's shoulder. "Am I too late to be blessed?"

"Aye, you are." I laughed. "I only had enough singing in me for one verse."

"That is a shame." Harrold Arryn looked dejected for a moment. He, too, seemed to have had a good drink. "What a lovely wreath you've given your betrothed. Gold I may understand, but I am curious as to why you chose purple..."

"Well, it is my most beloved colour." I admitted, shrugging. "It's quite beautiful, don't you think?"

"I did not know." Harrold stroked his chin. "You always wear black with gold, after all... did you know, Ser?"

"No." Mychal shook his head.

"Neither did I," Arya added.

"Ah, I've thought of a gift for your name day already, Your Grace." Harrold Arryn smiled, his blue eyes lighting up. "I shall bring you the most brilliant of purple doublets known to the world. It shall be fringed with golden Myrish lace, soft and gentle as feathers. You may be able to use it as a pillow if you seek."

"That is quite the pitch." I won't lie, it did sound appealing. "If you must, get me a suitable set of lower garments to go with it."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"Then I shall wear it for an entire year." I jested, laughing. "I do love all things purple and gold. Though, won't such a thing be quite expensive?"

"Expensive?" Harrold Arryn questioned, shaking his head. "Why, nothing can be too expensive of a gift for my valiant King."

"Just don't come to me saying you need your taxes relieved." I jested.

We hanged out for a while longer, before I went on to chat up some other people. My social battery lasted an eternity thanks to the wine, giving me the energy to strengthen relations with some of my greater lords.

"It's a shame, Your Grace." Tyrion stumbled against the table, piss-drunk with another full cup in his hand. "Why can't men share their appearance? You would find no trouble if you were half as handsome, and neither would I with that other half."

"A curious question." I chuckled. "If only that were possible."

"It's a foolish question." He laughed. "Have you thought of any matches for a handsome imp as I?"

"Not yet," I admitted, shrugging my shoulders.

"My brother would make a more fitting Lord of Casterly Rock." Tyrion mused, shaking his head. "Maidens would flock to him from Dorne to the North once they knew he was free to marry. I could be his little hand, guiding him and the Westerlands while I drink myself to an early grave."

"Cheer up, my lord." I patted his head. "So long as there is life, you may just find light in the tunnel if you keep walking forward."

"It's not so easy to walk with these stunted legs of mine..."

"No one's going to carry you." I shook my head. "On another note, have you considered seeing Ser Jaime?"

"My beloved brother? Why, of course."

"Then you might wish to join me on my journey North."

Tyrion accepted my offer, adding to the list of my companions.

~

As night fell and the feasting, drinking, dancing and singing began to come to an end, I decided to retire to my bedchamber. Arya accompanied me, alongside the Hound and Ser Arys Oakheart.

"Your bond with your sister reminds me of my own." Arya smiled, looking at me.

"With who, Robb?"

"No, Jon Snow. You've never met him since he joined the Night's Watch."

"Oh, him." I acted like I had no idea. "I've heard a little about him, here and there. Robb spoke fondly of him."

"When I was younger, I thought for a short time I was bastard-born like him, too." Arya remarked with a slight smile. "We looked the most like our father when all my other siblings had more Tully in them than Stark."

"You'll be reunited soon enough." I smiled. "I'll get to meet your other brothers, too. Six children, if you think about it... Lord Eddard was a busy lord in the bedchamber, indeed."

"Hard to blame him with Catelyn for a wife." The Hound added, rather bluntly.

Arya didn't take kindly to that remark, glancing back.

"How frightening." The Hound remarked. "A little wolf's glare."

"Stay your tongue, or the little wolf will grow and tear it off." I chuckled, jesting.

"If you had said the same, I doubt she would have looked that way."

"It would be quite inappropriate for me to speak of my future mother in such a way," I spoke, finally reaching my bedchamber. "Right... Ser Arys, if you would escort my lady."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"... How many children do you think would be ideal?" Arya questioned.

"A dynasty of a hundred sons... yes, that would be ideal!" I boasted, though it was a jest. "All shall be great warriors, my own personal household guard... a mighty force that would trample the world."

"A hundred..." Arya raised an eyebrow.

"When you become queen, Edric's bed shall be your new home." The Hound added, jesting.

"Though, in truth..." I chuckled, stroking my chin as I thought of children as something you could just pick up from the mall. "I'd want... three sons, not far in age so that they may rival each other and yet be the closest of friends."

"... No daughters?"

"Eh." I rolled my eyes. "What can I teach to a girl? I believe I'd do better as a father with boys."

Though, it seems fate has blessed me with a daughter instead...

"You won't know until you are the father of one," Arya remarked, turning to Arys Oakheart. "Goodnight, my betrothed."

"Mhm, goodnight."

She looks a bit more lady-like as of late.

Oh, right... Rhaerra and her mask. Where was she?

No matter, I'm too weary to chase for it.

I went straight to bed, looking at Raiden Shogun. Now, would Mr Targaryen swindle me as his fellow valyrian just did?

My question was answered as I fell into a dream.

...

I woke up in the hellish Plane of Euthymia once more, though there was a tree of cherry blossoms at the centre of it all. Except those cherry blossoms weren't quite pink, they were purple. The wind blew them all over. He sat on the ground, back leaning against the tree with harp in hand.

If Rhaegar Targaryen looked like anyone, it had to be him...

"There was a time, I used to look into my father's eyes. In a happy home, I was a king I had a golden throne. Those days are gone, now the memories are on the wall. I heard the sounds of the places I was born-"

Man's really singing 'Don't you worry child' to me...

"Is the reward you spoke of a performance?" I raised an eyebrow. To be fair to him, that man's voice was angelic... but not really what I wanted. It's like asking for a sword, and you get a Happy Meal.

"Be grateful, little stag." He remained seated. "The honour of hearing my voice is greater than any title you can comprehend."

"My apologies, Your Grace," I replied with clear sarcasm. "I must be uncultured."

"Indeed, you are." He chuckled. "Nonetheless, no, I was just having a little fun. I must commend you... that was an impressive show you put on. As promised, I shall grant you a worthy reward."

He created a picture-frame and tossed it to my feet. I raised an eyebrow, picking it up. It was a picture of Alysanne and me, both much older. There were seven others who shared our features. The Edric in that picture looked quite... fulfilled.

"That could've been you."

"..." Was he trying to anger me intentionally? "You're fortunate to be an omnipotent god."

"Oh, and if I were not?" He tilted his head with a curious expression. His wonderous violet eyes flared up. "Would you face me, little stag? I could grant you that wish."

"..."

"What's wrong?" He grinned. "You don't wish to be embarrassed in front of your beloved? That's fine-"

"Don't." Raiden Shogun warned.

"Let's do it."

"Most certainly." He drew the sword at his side and shrunk to my size. "Have your choice of weapon."

Since he wore no armour, I chose my sword.

As we clashed swords, I felt a gap wider than the universe. I couldn't even comprehend what the hell happened... my sword was parried, forced out of my hands and then I had both against my neck.

"The difference between Heaven and Earth, as they say." He mocked, kicking me to the ground and dropping my sword near me. "Don't let your triumphs over some mortals go over your head, little storm. You are no more than a light gust of wind to me, omnipotent or otherwise."

I frowned, feeling a surge of anger... yet I couldn't do anything about it.

"You are fortunate that I am a benevolent being." He sheathed his sword. "Chaotic, mayhaps... but-"

"I'll kill you someday." Those words came out of me, yet I knew there was no chance in hell I'd be able to.

"I'm counting on it." His unsettling grin reminded me a little of Dorian. "I love a good fight."

So, he's a fightsexual... small wonder.

I rose to my feet, dusting myself off.

"Nevertheless, I wouldn't have it said that I am a bully." The photo frame vanished as he spoke. "This world, in its entirety, is your reward."

"... This world?" I blinked, raising an eyebrow.

"The Plane of Euthymia... an improved, explorable, iteration of your glorified inventory space." He nodded, turning to Raiden Shogun. "You notice that someone is a little less transparent?"

I turned back, and Raiden Shogun no longer looked like a ghost.

"Ah-ah-ah." Mr Targaryen wagged his finger. "That doesn't translate to the real world; that would break our pact. In this world, alone, she is tangible. You can touch each other, kiss, cuddle, fight, practice... though it's all quite like having a dream. None of it affects your body."

"Hell, you could even have sex... hate sex is pretty fun, you know. Very spicy." He stroked his chin. "Though, I should warn you, she is at full strength here. She might just break you like a KitKat."

"..."

"Alright, you two, have fun! Adios!"

He vanished into thin air, leaving just Raiden Shogun and I.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 73: Queen of Love And Beauty

[Edric’s POV]

The lists were looking just right, so I had ensured. My squires helped with the armour

and I had the time to ask if their achievements in the melee. Dallin said that they did nothing notable, while Ragnor boasted that he had been on par with a knight.

“We fought all night long, and I only lost because of that bastard blue cloak’s arrows. He started firing ‘em at me from afar - there was nothing that I could do. Then that mad one with the two axes came charging in and I knew I was at the wrong place.”

“Three minutes is not all night long…” Dallin shook his head.

“You were counting each second from the ground? How nice of you.” Ragnor chuckled.

“In any case, matching a knight for that long is impressive.” I firmly nodded. “With more training, the tides would be in your favour.”

“Hear that? I'll be a knight sooner than you.” Ragnor grinned from ear to ear.

"Knighted for being better at running." Dallin didn't look impressed.

"I didn't run the entire time..."

I chuckled, shaking my head.

"You are my squires; nothing short of a great accomplishment in battle will earn you knighthood from me."

"Though, any knight can make a knight, no?" Ragnor questioned.

"The honour of being knighted by His Grace is countless times greater than some unknown hedge knight." Dallin countered.

"Indeed, it is." Dickon Tarly agreed. "For a farmer's son, you understand such things swiftly."

"Hmph. A knight's worth is his skill, not the man who knighted him..." Ragnor disputed, turning to me. "Of course, I mean no offence by that, Your Grace."

I nodded. "Ragnor, you wish to be known for your own deeds rather than the man who was knighted by the King. There is nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah... something like that. I couldn't put it better m'self." He nodded twice over. "Speaking of, who knighted you, Your Grace?"

"The Kingslayer." Dickon Tarly spoke for me. "At the age of one-and-ten, His Grace became the youngest knight the Realm had ever known."

"Kingslayer?" Ragnor scratched his hair. "Who is that?"

"You'll see him at the Wall." I smiled, turning away. "The joust shall be starting soon. Use it as experience."

"Yes, Your Grace."

...

"Would you honour me by wearing my favour once more, Your Grace?" Margaery offered right as the joust was about to begin. She smiled sweetly, as she always did. "It served you well before."

"Aren't you quite greedy, lady Margaery?" Arianne scoffed. "He already wore yours in one event. For that matter, you shouldn't even be here."

"I'm afraid that His Grace already has one lady's favour." Arya cheekfully smiled, as if she had triumphed over them. "Mine own, his beloved betrothed. You would do well not to waste his time further on this matter."

I chuckled, showing the hankerchief she had given me. "Arya speaks the truth."

"I see..." Arianne smiled, shrugging her shoulders. "How lovely of a gesture. The knightly King and his future Queen."

"I suppose there isn't anyone more worthy than the lady who shall be queen," Margaery remarked.

As that was settled, I turned my mind to the joust.

Like the other tournaments, I had a hand in the order of things. This joust was mostly based on the lance. The first rounds would be one-tilt affairs, which would weed out the worst of the bunch. I played part-time referee when it came to tilts where neither fell - deciding the victor based on who did better. I tried to be as fair as possible, naturally.

Luck would play a greater factor, opening way for some to advance where they would've otherwise lost. On the rare occasion that both jousters fell each other, a duel on foot would follow.

Since I was on the end of the lists, I had the pleasure of seeing most of it unfold. Two hundred and twenty-six men - and two women - would ride on the tourney grounds today, a myriad of banners soaring in the wind. Half of them I scarcely recognised.

Ser Loras would effortlessly put Taelor on his rump, as if he was pushing a toddler to the ground. Renly managed to fell a squire, Lord Harrold then took down one of his Vale knights, and all participating Kingsguard won their tilts. Rhaerra knocked down Brienne, who did not seem all that experienced with the lance.

After many hours of sitting about, it was my turn to put on a show. With my hyperfocus locked behind bars, I still had a few cards to play. Namely, my physical strength and endurance. No one else could match me in a combination of both. My riding was quite great, too... the only part I lacked when it came to jousting was the lancing part.

I'll need to maximise my strengths, minimising the severity of that flaw...

My first opponent would be a hedgeknight, who I knocked to the ground in a single tilt. He came crashing down thunderously. Per tradition, he had to give up his horse and armour to me. I shook my head at the gesture, letting him keep both. He looked like he didn't have anything to spare.

He bent his knee, making me raise my eyebrow.

"Allow me to serve you, Your Grace. I don't need gold or silver, so long as you grant me food and drink, I shall make due."

So quick to pledge yourself... is this some plot or is riding alongside me so appealing? I suppose fighting in battles is the finest way to make your name, nevermind the loot that could come from it.

"I accept your pledge of fealty." I nodded.  

'The Banner King...'

I thought to myself, turning away.

It has a decent ring to it.

The lists would continue on through the days, and my matchups steadily increased in difficulty as I intended. My second opponent would be Andar Royce, followed up by Lyle Crakehall. I knocked down both in the first tilt, overpowering them. Lyle Crakehall did scrape my armour and break his lance but I remained steady.

Perhaps my training with Ser Loras blinded me to how good I was against everyone else...

Loras would be gentler with his lover, gracefully knocking down Renly, and following it up by sending Ballio flying off his horse. Strangely enough, he was not showing off or giving out any flowers. It looked like he was all business in the joust.

Lady fortune seemed to smile upon Lord Harrold Arryn, who fell the recently married Mychel Redfort and bested Arys Oakheart in a stunning upset. Rhaerra would continue to advance, to my surprise. The Hound would fell the likes of Randyll Tarly and Bryce Caron in a single tilt, striking with both accuracy and strength.

As night came, the round of sixteen went underway.

Rhaerra knocked off Oberyn Martell, who still looked a little shaky from the previous competitions. Even so, it was quite the upset. The Hound would end Robar Royce's run while Harrold Arryn would advance once more. Loras, when faced with Daman - the last surviving blue cloak other than Rhaerra herself, was even more determined. He sent him to the ground with a blow of frightening precision.

Ser Garlan Tyrell, Ser Lyn Corbray, Ser Balon Swann, Rhaerra, the Hound, Ser Loras Tyrell and Lord Harrold Arryn would all advance to the quarterfinals on the fourth day.

After three difficult tilts, I did too. Yohn Royce proved a stubborn opponent but I managed to tank his hits before getting a good one of my own - felling him on my third try.

"From your practice with Ser Loras, one might not think you to be all that great of a jouster... but you've certainly proved your worth today, Your Grace."

My worth in regards to pointing sticks at people from horseback.

"You are a finer jouster, there is no doubt." I shook my head. "The difference is that my strength outweighs your skill and experience."

"You are too modest, Your Grace." Yohn Royce heartily laughed. "Your father was strong, too, mayhaps even the strongest - yet he was not much of a jouster."

"I don't believe he found much importance in it." I shrugged.

To be honest, neither did I. I would never choose a lance over bow nor warhammer from horseback. However, it is largely seen as the most prestigious event for knights. And so... I wanted to win one.

"Neither do you, by the looks of it."

I smiled at his reply.

"I'd like to see a lance that can hit a foe from a thousand paces."

"That's a good one, Your Grace!" Yohn Royce laughed at my jest. "Indeed, your bow is the deadliest weapon of them all."

What followed was a night of song, dance, smiles and laughter. It was sweet and warm, though I couldn't entirely enjoy myself being sober. Thoughts of the North lingered on my mind, swiftly followed by the Night King, which dulled my mood.

'To be a 'worthy' adversary and not some doormat I'd defeat with ease, he should be a great deal mightier than I am now...'

'Even if I did defeat him - what would be left of everything around me?'

"What's wrong?" Arya questioned, breaking my train of thought. "You don't look yourself."

"... It's nothing." I smiled, reassuringly. "Just thinking about some matters that are bigger than some joust."

"It isn't just any joust," Arya said, almost in a lecturing tone. "People are saying that it's the greatest ever. You shouldn't look over it."

"I didn't think you were one for spectacles." I raised an eyebrow. "Might it be that you care so much because I'm participating?"

"Of course. Why would I give my favour to someone who was going to lose? You should take it more seriously."

"... Of course, my lady." I chuckled, shaking my head as I had a glass of water. "I'll win tomorrow and name the lovely Lady Margaery as my Queen of Love and Beauty. A crown of wondrous flowers would suit her head, wouldn't you agree?"

"... Sure." Arya said, her voice flowing with sarcasm. She wasn't buying my jest. "Horses will fly on that day, too."

I laughed.

"That will be quite the sight."

At the back of my head, I began to wonder if Arthur had been right all along...

~

The fifth day of the joust would be the last, starting at dawn. Unlike the previous rounds, the quarterfinals would be decided in a best of three. Ser Loras and his older brother, Ser Garlan, would start it off. At first, they seemed equally matched, breaking two lances each. Loras looked steadier than his brother in both tilts. On the third tilt, however, Ser Loras showed his quality and sent his older brother to the ground - proving who was the better of the two with the lance.

Loras' talent and potential was among the finest in the Realm, undoubtedly. In the Hand's Tourney, he was second. He conceded to the Hound because he was grateful as he shielded him from the Mountain's rampage. It had been a year and three months since then, and he looked completely unstoppable.

How in Seven Hells was I going to beat him?

As King, I could ask him to take a dive, and he'd be oathbound to follow my command... but that would be egregiously fraudulent. I doubt that Targaryen God would approve of it and so, all of my efforts would be fruitless. While he didn't specify I couldn't use magic, it probably fell in the same category of 'unspoken rules'.

If I wanted to win that reward, I'd have to beat him as a jouster...

I should worry about who is in front of me, for now.

It was Rhaerra, who left a trail of shamed men in her tourney run.

Sandor Clegane would fell Lyn Corbray in all three tilts, while Harrold Arryn upset Ser Balon Swann, a knight of my Kingsguard. His wife-to-be's favour really was doing him favours, it seems...

Before long, my turn came.

I climbed atop my black war destrier as Dickon Tarly readied my lance. He raised it towards me, and I grasped it firmly. With my free hand, I stroked my destrier's mane before taking my shield from Dallin. The stallion was as fierce as it was loyal, having accompanied me through every battle since the rebellion broke out.

'Three more rounds...'

Rhaerra's choice of mount seemed... different. I felt that something was off.

The bell rung and I hurried my destrier forward, aiming my lance for Rhaerra's chest. Our mounts thundered at great speeds and my destrier seemed to act out, stopping abruptly and rising. I tried to rein him in, but then came Rhaerra's lance - scraping my left side before riding off.

I began to fall, lower and lower...

My life flashed before my eyes...

No.

I clung to my steed, grasping its reins with all my strength and pushing it down.

I had been only inches away from losing grip and falling to my demise...

Thankfully, my saddle had been firm and Rhaerra's blow wasn't strong enough to throw me off.

I rode forward to the other side, taking a deep breath and processing exactly what had happened.

That wicked witch, she used a mare in heat... a card straight out of Loras' playbook.

I looked down on my destrier, lightly smacking him on the head with my gauntlet.

"You better not be gooning over that mare." I frowned, shaking my head. "If you act up once more, I'll ship you to Meereen as Drogon's monday barbeque. And... if we win it all, you can have a harem of mares or whatever. You get what I mean?"

Maybe, since I was on my way to becoming a greenseer, this horse could understand me...

The horse looked at me and nodded firmly, as if he understood what I had said to him.

"Good."

This time, my destrier remained firm as stone. With that, I was able to target Rhaerra properly and grazed her shoulder. She hit me on the chest, too, but it was nothing that could take me down.

In the third tilt, I'd get a proper hit and send her to the ground.

Given that the second tilt was a tie and the third one was a more decisive victory in my favour, I was declared the winner.

I'd ride towards Rhaerra afterwards.

"It seems as if that mask is all but mine."

"Congratulations." Rhaerra didn't seem too bothered by it. "I shall give it to you after this joust comes to an end."

"You could sound a bit more upset by the loss." I chuckled.

"It was a fun game, while it lasted." Rhaerra nodded. "You and your men rose to the occassion where it mattered most. Mayhaps mine could learn a thing or two from yours."

"I like to think they learned from each other. A single dominant force will grow weaker without a worthy rival to push it forward, to greater heights."

"I am honoured that you consider my blue cloaks as rivals to your esteemed Kingsguard."

"I would be lying if I had said otherwise." I admitted.

"You are right, I suppose. Now, the question remains... will it be you or Ser Loras?"

"There are two other competitors."

"They are not winning," Rhaerra spoke as if it were written in the stars.

She was entirely right. Ser Loras would only lose in one tilt against the Hound, though he did not fall. He would win the other two, one in which he fell the Hound. As for Harrold Arryn, I knocked him off twice.

"Seems as if my good fortune ran dry against you, Your Grace."

"You came far, my Lord. There is no shame in that. Your lady ought to be joyful."

"Indeed, she is. Though, the laurel of the Queen of Love and Beauty would've been better."

"My horse could've had wings, too." I chuckled. "All things could be better, my good lord. They could also be far worse."

"Indeed, you are right." Harrold Arryn smiled, nodding. "There is no better person to best me than the King himself."

Before I knew it, I would have to face someone far, far, more skilled than a Harrold Arryn.

The finals had a different set of rules from the other rounds of the day... being, well, the finals. It was a best of seven, in honour of my lovely gods. Being careless was not an option, I had to treat every round as if it were the last.

Maximise my strengths...

I took a deep breath, gathering myself. What was I so scared of, Loras? What a joke...

I want to win.

I need to win.

I am stronger, tougher, smarter, better... I am better.

The glory, the gold, the prestige, the honour, the reward... all of it... is mine alone to win.

And I will win it all...

After hyping myself up, I felt like seven Loras' couldn't beat me.

~

[Arya's POV]

Edric charged forth, his black cape and golden crowned stag etched onto it catching the sun's radiance. Ser Loras would hurry his horse at the same time, with both lance's meeting in the middle. Arya felt her heart quicken as their lances broke against eachother's armour.

Edric's had only grazed the side of Loras' breastplate, while Loras' was a clean blow that almost struck him off his horse.

They both rode onward, to the other side, and took new blunted lances.

You can't lose... you can't.

Arya thought, half in disbelief that she cared so much for a joust and the other half wishing that Edric put Loras on his rump in every tilt.

The next two were less brutal, with Loras winning less decisively. Edric would perform even better in the next three tilts, seemingly improving with each exchange. Ser Loras couldn't quite hit him hard enough while Edric simply lacked precision.

It was a matter of whether or not Edric would get a true strike on Loras before Loras' blows became too much for him.

In the seventh and final tilt...

Edric struck true, breaking his lance and forcing Ser Loras on his back. As the knight clung on, Arya's heart skipped a beat. He had been so close...

What would the tourney organiser decide?

The two rode to opposite sides, awaiting the result.

"In light of these seven splendid tilts, I must award the victory to none other than His Grace, Edric 'Storm' of the House-"

"No!"

A voice like thunder interrupted the judge. It hadn't been Ser Loras, who had been denied victory... but rather Edric himself. This sudden roar caught everyone unawares.

"Your Grace-"

"The champion shall be the one who remains standing!" Edric announced, grabbing a fresh lance from his squire. "Neither of us have fallen. Therefore, there is no victor between us yet!"

Arya was too stunned to speak.

Edric... can be so unbelievable stubborn, she thought to herself. Why can't he happily take the victory as it is?

Yet, this act gained the praise of the entire crowd. Smallfolk and highborn alike cheered gleefully at the prospect of more tilts between their King and Ser Loras to decide a proper, undisputed champion.

They rode to meet each other for the eighth time, each breaking a lance. Several, a dozen...

More and more tilts would go by as the two continued breaking lances and swapping sides. Edric's lance grew in precision as he improved and grew level with his opponent, yet Loras' blows continued to strike true. It suddenly became a matter of who was more durable...

That answer would come in the twenty-fourth tilt.

They met in the centre of the tourney grounds, for the twenty-fourth and last time...

Loras lance struck first, breaking against Edric's lower chest.

He lost himself...

But only for a moment.

Edric firmed his lance and struck true with thunderous strength.

Crack.

His lance broke against Loras' breastplate, and his hold yielded at last as he came tumbling down to the ground for the first time. Arya almost couldn't believe it, yet she had seen how a more focused Edric bested Loras each time in practice...

This time, he had shown his best... which eclipsed Loras' best.

He used his endurance and strength to the fullest, outlasting Ser Loras and improving with each tilt until he struck him just right when he was at his weakest...

It was a decisive, calculated victory. Arya realised that Edric's decision to keep the joust going wasn't a hole he had dug for himself, but rather... a tunnel to absolute victory he had mined from the very first tilt.

He left no doubt, no room to speculate...

He was the champion of the joust.

Edric removed his helmet, tossing it to Dickon Tarly who treasured it like Valyrian Steel. His wild black hair flowed free, revealing a face full of sweat. He showed a confident smile, riding towards Ser Loras and exchanging words with him.

"As His Grace had decreed, the champion of his Great Joust would be the last competitor that remained standing. Ser Loras of House Tyrell has fallen first." The judge ruled. "As such, I hereby proclaim Edric 'Storm' of the House Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm... as the champion of this Great Tournament's Joust!"

Once Edric finished talking to Loras, he turned to the centre where one of his prize's, the champion's favour, awaited him. It was a wondrous wreath of purple and golden flowers. He took it, and half of the world seemed to hold its breath.

It was one of the greatest honours a lady could earn, the so-called 'Queen of Love and Beauty'. Gaining it from any knight, let alone a King who had paved his way and earned absolute victory, left all the ladies praying and dreaming. Everywhere Edric looked, he was met with the sweetest of hopeful smiles, winks and blowed kisses.

No doubt, that honour was a prospect that her older sister would gush at...

Even though she wanted to mock them all, she found herself just as anxious. She wanted it to fall into her lap - Arya couldn't deny it. She wanted Edric to dedicate his victory to her and show the entire Realm that their betrothal wasn't just... duty and honour. That it was something he truly wished to realise, rather than something imposed upon him.

He could choose anyone he wished today, she knew. No one in the world could stop Edric when he was determined to do something.

He slowly rode past the crowd, a wave of cheers following his wake.

He rode past Arianne Martell, briefly stopped at Margaery and smiled. Arya had half a mind to throw a rock at him. It almost looked like he'd do it until she realised he was only playing to the crowd. Then, he'd finally stop at Sansa who sat next to her.

"Sansa, you look lovely today." He remarked with a charming smile. "How did you find my performance?"

"It was brilliant." Sansa gave him a smile.

"It looks like my favour turned you from a half-baked jouster to a champion." Arya interupted, grinning slightly.

"Look at you, all red and flustered." Edric chuckled, shaking his head as he deflected her jest. "You're adorable."

"What?" Arya blushed as she denied, shaking her head. "I'm not red..."

"You are one of the reasons why I fought on so stubbornly." He smiled, grasping her heart with just a couple of words. "The sight of your smile has made it all worthwhile."

"..."

Arya strangely felt too embarrassed to reply. Sansa sat silently, knowing what would follow.

"As I am champion, this wreath... and all that comes with it... rightfully belongs to only you."

He raised his lance, which carried the wreath of flowers and laid it on her lap. He had returned her favour with one of his own; the champion's favour. In the blink of an eye, the dishonour of his previous misdeed with Margaery washed away with the greatest honour in the Realm.

For that night, Arya Stark would reign as the Queen of Love and Beauty.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 72: The Queen's Mounting Troubles

[Daenerys’ POV]

Daenerys woke sooner than usual, at the break of dawn. She found herself unwilling to sleep further, knowing that much had to be done. Irri and Jhiqui, her handmaidens, attended to her person and ensured she looked queenly.

She glanced to the side afterwards, her mind stuck on Edric Storm. His eyes had been like blue waves drawing her in, flickering with purple lightning.

Red Rain rested on her table, its steel safely sheathed. She stepped forward and lightly grasped its hilt, drawing out crimson-red Valyrian Steel. Though a longsword, she did not find it too heavy to swing. It had been one of Edric’s conquests, a triumphant victory as Barristan had told.

“Khaleesi, you must be watchful of Valyrian Steel. It can cut an unarmoured man in half with no more than a flick of the wrist. It is known.”

“It is known.”

Irri had warned her, and Jhiqui confirmed afterward, yet Daenerys knew all too well.

“My brother said that House Targaryen once had two Valyrian Steel swords; Blackfyre and Dark Sister. Aegon the Conqueror had wielded the first, and so did all of the Targaryen Kings after him... until it had been given to a bastard.”

It had been Aegon the Unworthy, and even Viserys, for all his love of everything Targaryen, had not been too fond of him.

"What of the other?"

"Great warriors would wield Dark Sister after Aegon the Conqueror's older sister-wive, Visenya... warriors like Aemon the Dragonknight, Baelon the Brave and the Rogue Prince. Both swords have been lost to House Targaryen for many years..."

The Blackfyres had stolen Blackfyre, and their descendants kept it to themselves while Dark Sister was lost to the northern ice past the Wall, so Viserys had told.

Her handmaidens agreed that it was a great loss, though she did not feel too strongly about it. Swords could cut down a couple dozen men, Daenerys thought, yet dragons can bend entire kingdoms.

If she had to choose between her three dragons and those swords, the answer would be obvious. However, she did not deny that having both would be better than either.

She had thought to give Red Rain to one of her own, a man of both skill and loyalty. Ser Jorah had come to mind as a prime candidate. He had been her guardian and advisor from the beginning. Yet it did not feel right to her, least of all now. Ser Barristan hadn’t come to her as an enemy…

She sheathed the sword and chose to take it down to the dungeons. As she did so, Daenerys thought of Edric’s words. Whether it was a dream with the real him or figment of her imagination, she knew his words carried some truth. 

“Princess.”

Ser Barristan called out as she approached, raising his head. Only a couple days had passed since he had arrived and he looked almost as well as he did back then. Daenerys hadn’t deprived him of food, finding him to be a great source of knowledge and wisdom.

“Give me the key.”

Daenerys instructed in Valyrian, turning to the unsullied guard. He withdrew the key and relinquished it without a moment’s hesitation.

“Have you made your mind?”

“I have.” Daenerys nodded. “If you are unable to address me as Queen, then what of Khaleesi?”

“I have no argument with that.” 

“Then that is our compromise.” 

Ser Barristan left his sitting position, bending a knee. Khaleesi was Dothraki for Queen, which meant the same thing to Daenerys. However, for Ser Barristan, it seemed to mean two entirely different things. He couldn’t stomach addressing her in the same manner as Edric, even if it meant death.

"What was it that Edric commanded of you, word-for-word?" Daenerys questioned, observing the aged knight.

"He instructed me to find you and return you home."

Daenerys would have found the thought amusing, had she not heard it before.

"And to shield me, if I object?"

"He commanded that I honour my oaths to the Targaryen Kings of the past alongside his own... and shield you," Barristan spoke with a sincere tone, a voice of stern and unwavering honour. "I swore to him that I would return you to your rightful home."

"Your oath might just come true, in time... yet did your King believe that I would not bear any grudges?"

"His Grace likes to see the good in all, even where there is little to find. He did not take you for an enemy, but rather a consequence of his father's actions. A consequence that he sought to mend as best as he could..."

"Your King is mightily idealistic." Daenerys presented him with Red Rain. "Even so, I will accept you as my shield and shield. This sword will be yours once more... for serving my forebears with honour."

"I will not fail you, Khaleesi."

Barristan took the sword after Daenerys landed it on his hands. He had not said Khaleesi the right way, though he would have plenty of practice for it.

"You may rise, Ser Barristan. It is not my wish to tire your knees."

"They do not tire easily."

Daenerys had no reason to doubt him, for he had served so many kings. Kneeling had to be a routine for the knight.

"... Very well, you shall guard me as I go through the petitions-"

"There is one matter that I wish to speak of, Khaleesi." Ser Barristan hastened behind her. "It concerns you."

She glanced back.

"And what would that be, Ser?"

"I have always served with honesty and duty, Khaleesi. Before, I did not find it appropriate to speak on this matter, but now... I feel as if there will never be a better time. Keeping you in the dark on this truth would be a disservice to you, Khaleesi, even if you might not trust my words..."

Daenerys felt her heart quicken, only for a moment.

"Speak."

"I do not know how you will take this, but Jorah Mormont... has been an informer for the Spider."

"..." It was not something she had wanted to hear. That couldn't be true, Daenerys denied, it is nothing more than a lie stirred by Edric Storm to weaken her position...

"Even if this were true, why would you speak on it?" Daenerys deflected. "If Ser Jorah has been informing your King, why would you reveal the spy to me?"

"I thought it would be for the best." Barristan lowered his head. "Though I will admit that His Grace was not fond of the man, nor am I. He is a disgraced lord who sold his honour, lands and title for gold by partaking in slavery."

"This..." Daenerys chuckled, though she felt anger, frustration, confusion, sadness... a myriad of emotions had overwhelmed her. "I must hear the truth from him."

The Hall of Undying had told her that she would be thrice betrayed, once for blood, once for gold and once for love. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first...

Daenerys turned away and hastefully walked all the way to the second highest floor of the Great Pyramid, the Hall. She then called upon the man she had once considered her closest friend, her advisor, her shield, her bear...

He looked on with a dutiful and enamoured expression, ignorant of her fury at him.

"Something has disgruntled you, Your Grace?"

"Speak... and speak only the truth."

Jorah glanced to her side, where Ser Barristan had stood. Did he know? It couldn't be...

"I do not understand." Jorah wore an expression of confusion.

"Ser Barristan has accused you of betraying me," Daenerys explained, eyeing Jorah Mormont. "He says that you were informing my enemies."

"I..."

"Do not deny it with the little honour you have, Ser," Barristan spoke. "You've sent a great many letters and reports to the spider, from the princess' marriage to the Khal, to the death of Viserys, all in between and no doubt much after... all for your royal pardon-"

"Is this true?"

"I... have been faithful to you. I warned you of the poison, I warned you of-"

"You warned me of everyone but yourself." Daenerys gathered her anger, melting away the tears that should have been. "To think that you have been a traitor for so long..."

"I stopped, Your Grace, long ago... when I fell in love with you. My last report had been in Qarth-"

"Qarth?" Daenerys questioned. She hoped it had been further back than that; truly she did. Yet, the more Jorah Mormont spoke, the greater of a hole he dug for himself. "Tell me, good knight... what reward was so great that you would endanger my unborn son?"

"A royal pardon, gold..."

"A royal pardon." Daenerys frowned as she raised herself from her high seat, feeling her blood boil. "A royal pardon?"

"Yes, but... my loyalties lie elsewhere. Even if I had not told them, someone else would have. You know it. You know that you have my heart, Your Grace, I-"

"You dare to speak of love?" Daenerys scoffed.

"I protected you. I fought for you. Killed for you."

Kissed me, she thought, betrayed me.

"Forgive me... you must forgive me."

Daenerys steeled her resolve, shaking her head as Jorah attempted to reach her.

"Do not ever presume to show your face before me again nor speak my name."

The Unsullied guards blocked his path, pushing him back.

"I do not care where you go, whom you serve... only that I do not ever have to see your face again."

"You will have until last light to collect your things and leave Meereen. If you are seen inside the city walls by then, I will have Strong Belwas twist your head off. I will. Believe that."

She turned away from him.

"Remove this liar from my sight."

Strong Belwas had taken him by the arm and dragged the knight away from the hall. The betrayal had stung deeply; she wanted to weep yet could not... she had to be strong.

I am the blood of the dragon, she gathered herself. A dragon does not weep.

She heard the loud cries of all her dragons from outside the Great Pyramid, of rage. Their roars made it sound as if they would soar down and tear Jorah to pieces once he showed himself. Mayhaps that would not be the worst outcome...

She thought for a moment, sighing as she sat back down - sinking into her seat.

He's gone, now...

My father and mother, my brothers, Ser Willem Darry, Drogo who was my sun-and-stars, his son who died inside of me, and now Ser Jorah...

"The Queen has a good heart," Daario remarked, brandishing one of his daggers. "But that one is more dangerous than all the Oznaks and Meros rolled into one. You need not even speak the words, my radiance. Only give the tiniest nod, and your Daario should fetch you back his ugly head."

"Leave him be." Daenerys decided against it. "The scales are balanced now."

Today, she still has an endless number of petitions to hear...

Many of them revolved around the sacking of Meereen and the chaos that had come with it. Most sought their gold returned, which was easy enough to reject but there were more troubling stories. One boy, younger than herself, had come up speaking of how two slaves rose up against his family and killed his father and older brother. His voice broke as he went on, speaking of how both slaves raped and killed his mother. One of the slaves had taken the house for himself while the other joined her as a soldier.

The boy wanted both hanged.

Daenerys, conflicted, had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack, nor would she punish slaves for rising against their masters.

The boy had charged her, yet he had slipped on his tokar before going far. She had decided to forgive him, yet, seeing the rage in his eyes, she knew that the harpy had found another son.

More came, speaking of how her dragons had devoured their animals, and she chose to repay them with their worth in gold. Alas, one man remained still.

"It was the black one... it came down from the sky and... and..."

No, Dany felt a shiver, no, no...

They were not the bones of sheep...

They were that of a child.

...

After an entire day of rulings, she looked towards the sky in thought. It felt as if the entire world was slowly crumbling down, bit by bit.

“Humour me, who between us sits the Iron Throne while the other is on the other side of the known world making a poor attempt at ruling some slaver cities?”

She recalled Edric Storm's words of contempt.

And what would you do if you ruled Meereen, Edric Storm? Would your arrows and warhammer find the Sons of the Harpy? Would you even free the slaves or continue their enslavement, becoming the master of masters? What would you do with three dragons who can set your people on fire at a whim?

I am a dragon in a pit of snakes, as you are a black hare surrounded by white rabbits. You have your uncles, the Starks, the loyalty of so many lords... while I am surrounded by enemies in a foreign land.

And yet... if I cannot rule a city, how can I hope to rule Seven Kingdoms?

Raiden's Storm Chapter 71: Revelation

[Edric’s POV]

Now, I don't know how great Daemon Blackfyre’s dance with Gwayne Corbray had been in person, but this had to come pretty close. The only diminishing factors were that it wasn't a true battle and was shorter. The flame of their steel was a sight to behold.

There was no doubt in my mind that it was the finest duel I had witnessed, and I'm sure many present would agree. 

After hearing what would probably be his last words for the day, I looked back.

“Maester Gormon, attend to Ser Arthur at once.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The blue cloaks gathered on the other side, picking up Valaegor. I took both Valyrian Steel swords, resting Nightfall with Arthur and keeping Lady Forlorn for Lyn Corbray. I'd give it back, of course.

“I'm sure you're pleased with the result, even if Arthur had given it to your foe.”

“I asked him to defeat him with Lady Forlorn, though that saying can have two meanings.”

“So Arthur hadn't lied to you, after all.” I chuckled. 

“Indeed. He is a valiant knight of honour, allowing his opponent to fight on equal grounds where it might not suit his advantage. Perchance he had taught the foreigner a thing or two in their clash.”

It was a reckless move, I won't lie… but it worked out so I can't complain too much.

“Mayhaps he did.”

“Your Grace.” The tournament organiser approached me. “What shall be done with this duel? There is no clear victor, unless you count the man who fell to the ground first.”

“The victor shall be the person who can rise to face the Hound on the next day. For now, it is a tie.”

“Understood.”

…

Later in the night.

“So, the man who rises tomorrow shall be victor?” Valaegor looked like he had seen better days, laying in a bed beside Rhaerra, who had patched him up. “It seems that I am sleeping soundly for a day.”

“I never took you for a man who gives up so easily.”

“I should have lost to Ser Arthur. No… I did lose. Any duel where I am left on the ground, unable to rise, is a defeat for me.”

“You fell second. Besides, Ser Arthur likely won't be fighting any duels for a while. Will you leave the Hound to fight air in his final match of this tournament?”

“Always one for the dramatics.” 

“You’re the one talking.” Rhaerra chuckled. “That speech about… poorly-baked pie, was it? I wanted to throw knives at you for doing something so foolish, arrogant and impulsive.”

“Hahahaha, that would've been quite the sight.” 

Valaegor felt pain in his stomach from laughing, though it did not dim his smile.

“Aye, your corpse full of knives would've been. Half the Realm will bear distaste for me entirely because of your actions.”

“You're no stranger to winning enemies over.” Valaegor shrugged with a clueless expression. “You'll be fine.”

“...”

“You know I am a man who acts with my heart first - a heart that was writhe with anger at that time.”

“You ought to act with your head instead.”

“I do not regret any of my actions, however.” Valaegor closed his eyes. “Our clash was as much a duel as it was an exchange of souls. I understood what drove him, what gave light to his fire… yes, I was fighting on the wrong side all along.”

“...? I don't recall him bashing your head.”

“Once, I had thought that I was the Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire, Azor Ahai reborn…yet, on this day, I was humbled by His flames. I saw the light, the truth of the world. It was all in the fire. The Lord of Light chose to guide me when I was clouded by the darkness of my own pride.”

“Oh, the irony of this world. R’hllor’s mind could only truly be known to himself…”

Valaegor laughed at himself.

Rhaerra blinked, feeling as if Valaegor had gone mad from his defeat. 

~

[Arthur’s POV]

The duel with Valaegor had taken every bit of strength he had. There was no way in Seven Hells he would be able to walk the tourney grounds anytime soon, let alone face the Hound. He had bitterly come to terms with that.

Edric would come to visit, playing a part in his treatment. He had keenly been guided by Maester Gormon, a new fascination of his. 

“Another joust that you'll come to miss, eh?” Edric smiled, jestfully japing at him.

“At the very least, you will not.”

“You could've won if you pushed your advantage and never let him grasp Lady Forlorn.”

“It was foolish, I will not hide from that.” Arthur admitted, shaking his head. “Yet… my body moved on its own. It felt like the right thing to do.”

“Your impulses have to be the worst in the Seven Kingdoms.” Edric laughed, shaking his head. “You gave up the glory of winning this tournament for… an even duel with your foe?”

“If I fought only for glory, then I would've taken the prize for the seven-a-side melee.” He stopped, thinking of Brienne. “Life… is more than glory and tournament victories. Even if my opponent did not show honour to others, that did not mean that I had to lower myself to his standard.”

“This sense of honour better not risk others in an actual battle.” Edric remarked.

“A tournament and battle are two different things, Your Grace.” Arthur shook his head. “With Nightfall enflamed, I have to be wary of where I cut and how deeply… that restraint does not exist in a battle. I would have severed him.”

“How fortunate for Valaegor.” Edric nodded. “Alright, I won't keep you. Get your rest… and don't worry about tomorrow.”

…

“Ser Loras?” 

Arthur woke at a later time, observing the presence of one of his sworn brothers. He did not expect to see him here, let alone so soon.

“In truth… when His Grace raised you above me, I had thought that you were unworthy; that you had taken a seat meant for me.” Loras bore a strangely sincere expression. “I have never been more wrong in my life. On this day, I have seen the truth of this matter. The only person fit to lead the future of the Kingsguard forward is you, Ser Arthur.”

Arthur blinked as Loras Tyrell bent his knee and lowered his head.

“I plead that you forgive me for my arrogance and insolence. I went so far as to voice my falsehoods to others covertly. I... feel ashamed to have doubted both your ability and my King’s directive."

"I thought myself unworthy so you doing so isn't all that shocking. If anything, I expected it." Arthur smiled, shaking his head.

"Regardless of how you felt, I should have supported the decision steadfastly and given you confidence."

"It's all in the past, Ser Loras; we need not linger on it. All is forgiven."

"You are too forgiving, Serjeant." Loras Tyrell slowly rose to his feet, taking a deep breath. It had been the first time that he acknowledged his title. "I owe you a great debt of gratitude that I intend to repay earnestly."

"You can repay me by winning, Ser. Only one competition remains... and it is the greatest and most paramount of them all."

"I do not believe so, Serjeant. You've already taken the greatest victory. Though you have no champion's purses to show for it, you proved to be the best of all of us. That is worth more than any amount of gold."

Arthur smiled, feeling weary. "Mayhaps..."

"I... won't disturb your rest further. Gather your strength, Serjeant. I pray that the Gods grant you a swift recovery."

~

[Edric's POV]

It was the finals, and the Hound was locked in and ready. Though he had his fair share of injuries, they were nothing too serious. I couldn't say the same for Arthur or Valaegor, both of whom seemed to have given it their all the previous day.

In the worst-case scenario, the Hound will have no opponent, which might lead me to don my alternative armour for a little spectacle.

Alas... that would not happen.

Valaegor came onto the tourney grounds looking like a man one step away from the grave. He wore no armour except a shirt of mail - using his poleaxe as a walking stick of sorts. There was no way in Seven Hells he was going to put up any sort of fight.

He slowly turned to me, ignoring the Hound. His walk was awfully slow.

He stopped right before me.

"Your Grace." He lowered himself to his knees, looking up at me. "I pledge myself to you, in heart, soul and flame. My life is yours."

Did he hit his head a little too hard on his way down?

"I must decline."

"Even if you object, I shall steadfastly walk by your side from one end of the world to the other. From the brightest flames to the darkest depths, my fire shall light your path. It is my life's greatest duty, as a faithful servant to the Lord of Light, to champion for He who is Azor Ahai come again."

"Nothing short of death will halt me." He paused, shaking his head. "For even in death, R'hllor's flames will grant me the strength to rise again... and again... until my use to him is entirely ended."

Talk about the ultimate stalker...

"Well, aren't you determined?" I chuckled. "Almost everyone in my company despises you. Do you believe yourself to be worth the trouble?"

"I do."

"Hmph, you're quite amusing. Get off your knees and fight already."

"A fine command, my liege."

That was not a command, and I'm not your liege...

He rose to his feet and a thin layer of fire burst from his body. What kind of bullshit buff did R'hllor give this man? He grabbed his poleaxe and held it nearly with the same ease as he had done the day before, walking with confidence.

The fire soon left him, focusing on the blade of his poleaxe.

He seemed to have gained a second wind... or in this case, a second flame.

The Hound looked unsteady. The flames clearly gave him a lack of confidence.

Maybe I should've told him to fall to the ground and let the Hound beat him bloody...

On the other hand, the Hound needed to get over this fear. If he could - it would be a great triumph. Besides, there is no way Valaegor is at full strength. It must be half an act.

As the duel began, Valaegor was swinging in earnest and forcing the Hound on the backfoot. He looked like he wanted in part in those flames. Though, I hadn't ever seen them genuinely burn anything.

Valaegor managed to get a few good hits on the Hound, shifting the tides decisively in his favour. Though Valaegor was weaker and slower than ever before, the Hound's lack of decisiveness would win him the day at this rate.

The Hound is one of the bravest men I've ever known, and yet...

"Hound!" I rose from my seat, having seen enough. "What in Seven Hells are you so afraid of?! Those flames couldn't cook a fucking mutton chop, let alone your armour. Stop retreating like a damn coward and conquer your fears!"

"..." The Hound paused. He likely wanted to curse me out, yet... didn't. He focused on Valaegor, blocking his poleaxe with his white shield.

They began to duel in earnest, at last. The Hound began to push the attack, deflecting Valaegor's poleaxe with his shield and storming forward to give him a mighty blow on the knee with his warhammer.

Valaegor's knee bent, and he struggled to retreat in time.

What followed next was a thunderous blow to his right shoulder, forcing him to drop his poleaxe. Then the Hound swung a clean blow across the side of his face, dropping him to the ground. He bent down on top of him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, headbutting him with terrifying strength. Valaegor's head bobbled back, his nose bloodied and face terribly bruised.

The Hound clenched his right fist and winded it back, holding Valaegor still with his left.

And then... he just started whaling on him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Again and again and again...

With each blow, the crowd cheered with glee as if the home team was scoring clutch bucket after clutch bucket. Well, in this case, it wasn't too far off.

"That's enough," I spoke, sitting back down. "You've won the day, Hound."

The Hound gave him one more punch for safe measure, albeit a lighter one. He rose from Valaegor's body, which looked like much of a corpse. That guy has to be made from titanium to take so much punishment...

"The champion of this Duelling Tournament and Sixth Competition is Sandor of House Clegane, His Grace's faithful Hound!"

Finally... my ass was getting itchy from sitting around all the time.

It's time I took to the field myself.

...

Meanwhile, in Arthur's room.

The Hound dropped half of his earnings on the table and left without a word, leaving the knight to his recovery.

~

The court was buzzing today, with the main event on the horizon. All the lords, ladies and knights seemed to be enjoying themselves. While I was having my pick of the food, Asha Greyjoy approached me.

"I've made my decision."

I grabbed a grape and had a bite. Tasted quite good. I turned to her with a slight smile. "And what did you decide?"

"To bend the knee and enter your service."

She did so, bending her knee beneath me.

"Good." I nodded, offering my hand. "You can rise now."

"That is all?"

"I trust that your words hold more meaning than your father's. If not, well... you're smart enough to know what I'm capable of."

I helped her up and patter her shoulder.

"I'll find you something to do after all is settled. For now, you can enjoy these festivities without fear of being a prisoner."

I chatted it up with Wyman Manderly and some other lords from the North. There hadn't been all that many, considering Robb's call to defend the Wall. Those closer to the Wall made the decision to fight for the Warden of the North and their lands rather than attend the tournament - a decision I more than respected.

I wanted to be up there too, but it would not look good if I dipped on Lord Harrold.

Briefly, I watched Tyrion Lannister putting Cersei's children to sleep. Though Cersei had not ever shown him any kindness, that did not stop him from treating his niece and nephew well. It was wholesome, in a way.

Personally, I tried to avoid speaking with them as it would be nothing short of awkward. I was the person who took their lives as prince and princess, the one who had a direct hand in their mother's death and father's exile to the Wall. Though they were entirely innocent, they had lost so much...

As such, I made sure that they were well fed, had access to proper education, clean and sizeable quarters and anything else a noble child would ever need. It was a small gesture that didn't cost me much, yet it was life-changing for them. Tyrion seemed to approve greatly of my way of handling the situation.

"You have a good and kind heart, Your Grace." Tyrion smiled as he approached me. "It is a small wonder why so many are eager to stand by your side. You have your father's gift, I believe. The gift to turn spared enemies into friends and fiercely loyal allies."

"It does not always work, this gift." I smiled, shrugging my shoulders. "Balon Greyjoy can attest to that."

"Balon was the greatest fool who has ruled the Iron Islands these past hundred years and his people suffered greatly for it. For the better, I'd think. The weeds must be removed to make way for the crops."

"Indeed... the Iron Islands wouldn't have been able to move so swiftly into a better direction if those strongly preaching of the old ways remained." I nodded. "It was a necessary sacrifice for the future."

"You are a truly terrifying child, Your Grace... I fear for the rest of the world when you fully mature."

Tyrion waved me goodnight, walking off.

I decided to retire to my bedchamber soon after, prepping the alternative armour Mr Targaryen had prepped for me. I decided to try it on and it fit me like a glove. The dragon-winged helmet, the spiked black gauntlets and sabatons, a dashing crimson cape with the black dragon at its centre and an entirely black breastplate.

I won't lie; I looked dripped out of my mind.

Even so... I preferred my armour.

'I am a Baratheon.'

I took off the helmet and put it down on my bed. Afterwards, I would remove the rest and store it in the Plane of Euthymia. Raiden looked at me, wondering where I got the armour from.

Suddenly, the world turned black and I found myself in a place resembling the actual Plane of Euthymia - alongside Raiden Shogun.

At the centre of it all stood Mr Targaryen himself, radiant flowers growing beneath him. His appearance was so silver it was practically shining. By comparison, he made Valaegor look awfully dull. As much as I didn't want to give him any props, that was just objectively true... he is a God, after all.

"Someone's feeling rebellious?"

"In truth, I believe your plan to be quite... extra. Why do I need to wear that silly armour to get others to face me at their best? You can snap your fingers and make that happen regardless."

"Hahahaha, what if I told you success would give you, say... fifteen points in the Rogue skill?"

"..."

Oh, that's a lot.

"Look at your face change!" He laughed, shaking his head. "You shameless experience goblin."

He looked at Raiden. "Oh, right, that's the first time we met face to face since I gave you that lecture. For what it's worth, you should thank Arthur Astley here for everything that happened. It was his desire that initially brought you here, after all."

She glanced at me.

The dreams were his doing, weren't they? The ones of my past, at the very least...

"Regardless, you don't need to wear that armour. Do as you will."

"So, the special reward is off the table?"

"Do you want it, hmm?"

"If it's worthwhile..." I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"Here's the deal, you can't use hyper-focus in a single joust. Prove that you are not a fraud, and I will... hm... I will give you this!" He flicked his hands and smiled as a Raiden Shogun bodypillow appeared between his hands. "It's pretty soft, perfect for you. You can just feel your Shogun's boundless warmth-"

I raised my hand, and lightning surged out, thoroughly burning it.

"Not to your tastes?" He stroked his chin. "I can make a lingerie version, if that's more your style..."

"I don't know who you take me for, but I don't want a fucking bodypillow. At that point, I'd be more inclined to lose."

"You must be fun at parties..." He sighed, shaking his head. "Anyway, rest assured, the reward is not a bodypillow. However, it is related to your beloved. It will give her the freedom to support you in some sense and rebuild that broken bond you share."

He spread open his arms, looking around.

"Something quite like this."

I blinked and found myself back in my bedchamber.

Something quite like this...

Raiden's Storm Chapter 70: Dance Of Fire

[Dorian’s POV]

Clever Myr, ever so entranced in learning and the finer arts of the world. Anything regarding glass, they were the finest at producing. The most useful of all were Myrish eyes that could allow a man with one eye to see as far as a falcon. Dorian had bought his many years ago, treasuring it as a second eye.

It was the place that had taken a young Raerra’s heart, drawing her into the world of art. Though Dorian himself never cared much for painting, he had allowed her to explore her interests freely. He had no desire to give his daughter the life of a caged bird, as he had been in his youth.

Because of this decision, her talents blossomed and took Myr as it had once taken her. The worth of her paintings was frighteningly great, easily eclipsing his own gains as a sellsword in recent years. It seemed rather silly that his service would be less valuable than some decoration… but a truly rich man tends to spend his gold on whatever he fancies. One could find a sword in any corner of a street, yet an artist so refined was as rare as dragons.

Though, Dorian hadn’t come here to admire his daughter’s fame and talents, no... he came to meet some old friends.

He walked through the streets in a long black cape, covering his face in a veil of shadows. It was night, yet many of the inns shined with lantern lights. After asking around, he discovered where it was that he had to go.

Soon enough, he saw the banner of the Stormravens flying high over an expansive inn that stood five stories high. It once was a blue raven flying high over a blue tide on a white field. During his leadership, Dorian had changed it to a crimson-red raven on a black field, soaring over a blood-red tide. Since then, it has remained unchanged.

A burly guard was standing outside, his arms crossed and alert.

As Dorian approached, the guard observed him remove his hood.

“Be ye seekin’ to join up with the ol’ mighty Stormravens? Yer lookin’ like a dodgy pirate. We like pirates around ‘ere.”

He spoke a broken common tongue that simply made Dorian smile.

“Most certainly.” 

“Come roight in. The Captain will test yer.”

It seems that the common member does not recognise me, Dorian thought as he walked in; how terribly sad.

He walked in as if he were just another recruit, but that illusion shattered swiftly as a familiar face immediately recognised him.

“Captain-General!”

It was one of his former up-and-coming, bright-eyed recruits. Though, he was not nearly as bright-eyed anymore and wore the look of a man who had seen many battles. His golden captain badge spoke to that.

"Captain-General?"

"Is that bloody Dorian-Daggerhand?"

"The Dorian?"

In the blink of an eye, Dorian had garnered the attention of every man on the first floor. Though some had not recognised him by face, his reputation clearly stuck around well past his tenure. He looked to the side, watching a couple men run up to the next floor.

This will be fun, Dorian thought.

"Jace, you're a high-ranking officer now?" Dorian grinned, showing his sharp teeth. "Colour me impressed."

"Aye, I am the master of ships. A captain." Jace nodded firmly, smiling with pride as he pointed at his badge. "I never thought that you'd ever come back again."

"And yet, here I am." Dorian spread his arms wide. "In all my loveliness and undying charm."

"I take it you came with reason."

Dorian kept his grin.

"Why, of course. I've come to take back my beloved Ravens."

"Is that a challenge to Malleo?" One sellsword whispered, though Dorian could hear him clearly.

"I don't think he'll give up the seat of Captain-General, not even to him. Malleo is too proud."

Malleo, Dorian's brilliant former third-in-command, stormed down in his lavish Captain-General attire. He was covered in gold and rare, colourful, gemstones. It was like seeing the incarnation of a rainbow. Dorian recalled his old uniform being far more fearsome and less colourful.

"You look like the richest clown in the Known World." Dorian mused, not even bothering to conceal his distaste. "Is that what you've spent my treasury on, jewels?"

"It is a better choice than silver-haired whores who leave you in an hour." Malleo smiled, looking ever so confident. Dorian saw through the facade like a thin veil. "Why have you come scuttling back like some rat, Dorian? Can't find a home?"

"You've gained a Captain-General's pride. Pray tell me, where is the man I named my successor?"

"He fell down the stairs in a drunken brawl and broke his neck. Most unfortunate occurrence."

"Sounds like quite the coincidence. You see, there is a reason why you were third-in-command." Dorian stepped forward, and the guards around Malleo drew their swords. Dorian stopped, though he did not show a drop of fear. "How many men are in the Stormravens these days?"

"One-hundred and twenty-three." Jace replied without hesitation.

"Is that it?" Dorian questioned, looking around. "When I resigned, the Stormravens were a mighty sellsword company of seven hundred men. Treasure chests full of gold, manses in every coastal Free City, every man armed with fine-forged steel, a fleet of twenty galleys and a fearsome reputation that was only second to the Golden Company."

"What are you now? A jest. The likes of the Stormcrows and Second Sons piss on you."

"... So?" Malleo questioned. "You've come here from the grave to bring us back to your 'Golden Age'?"

"Precisely. Surrender to me, and you can have your old position returned to you. A more fitting station for a man of your talents, we can both agree."

"Keep dreaming." Malleo stepped behind his men, using them as cover. "The Stormravens belong to me now."

"Do they?" Dorian looked around and saw many eyes seeking to deny it at a moment's notice.

"Forgive me, Dorian..." Jace stepped to Malleo's side, behind him. This made the Captain-General smile. Dorian kept his grin, which unsettled the Captain-General's smile.

"There is nothing to forgive, captain."

Malleo's eyes widened as a sword was drawn for him and stabbed deep into his chest. Blood poured out of his mouth as he gathered the strength to glance back. It had been Jace who stabbed him.

"You... traitor-"

"For the Stormravens."

Immediately, half the inn turned against itself as swords were drawn from one corner of the room to the next.

"You dimwitted fools." Dorian removed his cloak and tossed it into the air, revealing a figure armed to the teeth with daggers and knives. "Would you rather fight and die for a corpse or be led to a life of fortune, gold and wealth? The choice is yours, my Stormravens. I do not mind butchering half of you if that is what it takes."

"Conversely, any man who pledges himself to me may have one of Malleo's jewels as a golden promise for the riches to come."

Dorian's charm and equally unsettling nature won over everyone except a scarce few of Malleo's closest men, all of whom Dorian personally executed with one dagger throw to the head each.

"Right." Dorian dusted himself off. "Now that the rank of Captain-General has returned to me, all of you shall prepare to sail. We're going on a trip to Volantis."

"What of our contract to Myr, Captain-General?" One of the Serjeants questioned. "They've bought us for five years, and only one has passed since then."

"Piss on that contract. We have more important things to do."

~

[Arthur's POV]

Ser Lyn Corbray stood outside of the White Sword Tower, arms crossed. Arthur, not even having broken his fast yet, looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"What brings you here, Ser?"

"I want you to defeat that... scum."

"... You mean Valaegor?" Arthur blinked. "Naturally, I will do my best. I am not a person who is keen on losing. Though, you truly didn't have to wait out here to say that."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise as Ser Lyn removed Lady Forlorn from his belt and presented the sword to him.

"... If it aids you, I ask that you 'borrow' Lady Forlorn a second time." He hesitated in saying that, clearly. "Defeat him with it."

"..." Though Arthur wanted to reject him and say that he already possessed his own Valyrian Steel longsword, Arthur accepted - knowing how much it meant to him. Lyn Corbray wouldn't ask him of this unless he absolutely had to. "I will."

"Thank you." Lyn Corbray nodded. "I know only you can best him. After all, the Hound fears fire like a rodent fears cats. If that bastard were to win-"

"I will avenge your defeat." Arthur nodded, carefully adding Lady Forlorn and her scabbard to the right side of his belt. It felt strange having two swords. "You may rest at ease."

"You better." Lyn Corbray turned away. "My honour rests on your shoulders."

Edric had given him the morning to himself, which led to Arthur getting a good warm meal before requesting a spar after a little practice. Edric refused, stating that a spar against him would not prepare for a poleaxe. Instead, he offered one of the knights in his service who was proficient with such weapons.

Arthur would boldly attempt to use both longswords, though it was an entirely different matter against an armed opponent with a longer-reaching weapon.

His left hand was not as good, and the act of using both in a fluid motion required immense coordination. He did not know any stances, either. It was pure instinct, driven by what he knew of swordsmanship.

As time went on, his upcoming duel with Valaegor loomed. He decided to take a break and gather his strength.

...

Before the match, quite a number of ladies would offer their favour to Arthur, though he would courteously reject them all. Although favours were innocent enough to the point where married ladies and maidens might grant them to knights as a playful gesture, he found it difficult to choose, for he could only take one. It was less of a headache to simply reject them all.

That is, until Sansa Stark offered hers. A white ribbon with the grey wolf of House Stark.

"Ser Arthur, I ask that you take my favour to this duel."

Arthur exchanged looks with the lady, briefly falling into her deep blue eyes. He felt hard-pressed to object. It was a favour from a lady of a Great House, the eldest sister of a lord paramount. If anything, it would be quite rude to reject it, even if he had done so with courtesy.

"I shall wear it with honour." Arthur chose to take it from her soft grasp, smiling.

"May the Gods, both old and new, guide your sword to victory." Sansa nodded with a slight smile. "May my favour also grant you protection and good fortune against your vicious foe."

Arthur nodded. "I am sure it will."

Though their conversation had been brief, Arthur felt as if Sansa had been more... refined. He didn't ponder on the matter for too long, however, and focused on what awaited him.

Brienne and the Hound would face each other first, in a match that Arthur could only call inspiring. The Hound was stronger, but Brienne was just as tenacious and refused to fall easily. It was a duel that lasted a whole fifteen minutes, leaving the Hound with marks and wounds. The brawl was enjoyed by all, especially the smallfolk who liked fights that ended in the dirt with fists hammering at faces.

After that... it was time.

~

Arthur approached Valaegor, who slid his poleaxe across the ground - cutting a line along the way. After they were near sword distance, he raised his poleaxe and rested it on his shoulder. The dust behind him clouded some of the crowd.

"Look at you, all knightly." Valaegor mocked with a grin. "A sword from the weakling I humiliated and a favour from a pretty little lady. What else do you have with you on this quest, good Ser? Some companions to carry your weapons and cheer your heart? All you're missing is the princess."

"... Would that be Edric Storm?" Valaegor suddenly chuckled as Arthur remained silent. "Oh, I see."

"While you mock my King, you seem to have forgotten he had you shaking in your boots like a leaf in a storm with a simple raise of his hand."

"It was the lightning-"

"Or that time you conceded like a frightened child when faced with him in the melee."

"Hmph." Valaegor chuckled in jestful fashion, though he definitely looked angered by the taunt. Arthur could feel it. "Hide behind your princess all you like, but he won't be saving you today. There is no horse to fall on me. No interventions, no one to protect you. Just you and me, man to man. Our steel and nothing more."

"The other day, you questioned if you have no equal in this land."

"Aye, I did." Valaegor nodded. "What of it?"

"Then duel me with the sword at your side."

"Ridiculous." Valaegor laughed, shaking his head. "That would be playing to your advantage."

"Are you saying that you are an inferior swordsman?"

"Don't you wish to defeat me at my best?" Valaegor questioned. "Besides, I don't have Valyrian Steel."

"Sounds like an excuse. If you wish, I could lend you mine."

"Why don't you try wielding those two longswords against my poleaxe? I'm sure you'll have a good time."

"Very well." Arthur drew Nightfall and held it in both hands. "It seems to me that you believe yourself an inferior swordsman. That is understandable."

“Are these duels not meant to reflect battle? If I wanted to kill you, would I put down my greatest weapon to tickle you with a sword?”

“It seems that convincing you otherwise is pointless.”

“Let's get to the part where I beat you to the ground.”

“As you wish."

Valaegor dashed back and swung his poleaxe at Arthur’s side with great strength and speed, forcing Arthur to block. As the two weapons clashed, Arthur felt the sheer force behind the blow. It was small wonder why he could bash into plate so easily. He had faced worse, however. Edric's swings would often feel like a blow of thunder.

As Valaegor pushed forward, Arthur withdrew.

The two would exchange attacks, with Arthur using it to measure Valaegor thoroughly. How far he could swing, how fast, the way he would attack…

Unfortunately, he was quite unpredictable in every sense of the word. He would alternate his attacks frequently, feinting, pausing, striking slow and faster. 

He pushed Arthur to the defensive, using his range and covering the gaps in his armour perectly. Yet, despite being unable to damage him, Arthur deflected and dodged every blow. They were at a stalemate.

This same dance would continue on for ten minutes until Valaegor caught Arthur off guard and thrust his poleaxe’s pommel right into his jaw full-force. It was so swift of an attack that he had scarcely seen it.

He stumbled back while Valaegor advanced, raising his poleaxe high in the sky. He had aimed for the head…

Clang.

Arthur shifted his head slightly, lessening the blow. 

Though, he was still dazed.

Valaegor followed up with a swing to the side of his armour, tossing him to the ground.

“So that's all you amount to, huh. I expected a flare of that magic trick you used.”

Valaegor stepped forward, aiming to swing down on him.

I wonder… how you do it, Arthur thought, growing weary. How could you endure so much, yet keep fighting?

“Arthur.” He heard his voice. “You're embarrassing me. Not a single hit on this pompous silvery ass? Come on, get back on your feet. You made all those promises and yet this is all it amounts to? Where is your honour? Are your words meaningless?”

Sure enough, it was just his imagination.

He managed a glance to Edric who rose from his seat. He hadn't spoken a word.

I want to win…

It seemed as if everything around him was inconsequential, vanishing into nothing. He looked around in confusion. What was this illusion? He looked ahead, seeing the Iron Throne instead of the stands. Edric began descending from it.

The court was empty of everyone else... it was just them.

"I have dishonoured you," Arthur admitted grimly. "I..."

"You have not lost yet, nor have you won," Edric spoke as he reached him, his wild hair swirling around his golden crown. "So, how have you dishonoured me? The only way you can dishonour me now is by lying on the ground, waiting for it to end. You don't seek to quit, do you?"

"No... I seek to win."

“Then fight." Edric offered his left hand. "Stand up and fight! Let your heart rage with flame, burning away your doubts. Show him your resolve, fury, courage and might as a warrior!"

Yes… Your Grace.

Arthur forced himself up, accepting his hand.

His body erupted with newfound strength, as if he had been lit on fire. The back of his left hand momentarily glowed with a strange marking before vanishing. The illusion faded and he found himself at the very same predicament.

He didn't think... he acted.

Arthur rolled out of the way, sword in hand.

Valaegor only struck the earth.

"Looks like someone woke up."

Arthur felt great pain but fought through it, glaring at his opponent. With this new surge of strength, he felt like he could do anything. And so, he left Nightfall to his right hand and drew Lady Forlorn.

"You're not my little brother." Valaegor chuckled. "You can't dual-wield. Even if you could, you're not getting past my armour before I crush you-"

Arthur flashed forward without a word.

Valaegor swung his poleaxe to Arthur's left side, forcing him to block with his weaker hand. He did so, advancing forward. Valaegor managed to break past the block and curl around to hit Arthur on the back - yet he kept advancing - past his defence and swung Nightfall into Valaegor's plate armour.

SCREECH.

It cut through the plate like butter, along with the mail and leather beyond - making a gash across his stomach.

Valaegor dashed back in a hurry.

"What in Rh'llor's name..."

Arthur dashed forward to swing Nightfall, which glowed as dark as the night.

Valaegor chose to ignore what his eyes had witnessed, swinging his poleaxe at Arthur at the perfect time, clashing their weapons.

Shhhh...

Clang.

Valaegor paused in bewilderment as his poleaxe had been cut... clean through!

He could not retreat fast enough, watching as Arthur dashed forward and cleaved through the centre of the shaft.

"What sort of fiendish blade is that?" Valaegor rapidly retreated, as if he were running for his life. He saw the fallen Lady Forlorn and ran to her like a soulmate he dearly missed.

Arthur stepped slowly, letting him take the sword.

"Desperation has led you to accept my offer," Arthur remarked, pointing Nightfall at Valaegor. He felt absolutely calm despite the fire that burned within. "We can duel on equal grounds at last, as knights."

"Indeed..." Valaegor nodded, regaining his confidence. He seemed to have an endless supply of it. He raised Lady Forlorn to the skies, and it soon lit with R'hllor's flames - glowing. "I am R'hllor's champion, his knight, a hero who will burn through the darkness."

"Then we shall see whose God is mightier."

"Whose God, you say? Your Gods are Seven." Valaegor questioned.

"There are Seven and One."

"You've become offly religious!"

“In my heart and soul, I can only acknowledge one God; the one that I see with mine own eyes. The God that hears my prayers, grants me strength when I am weak, gives me courage when I fear, protects me when I am surrounded and gives me reason as to why I live. He is the God that shoulders the weight of the Realm and smites down those of ill will in his divine might.”

“Your God gave you a flicker of a flame; my God gave me this dream. His might, his unwavering spirit, resounds with this very sword!”

“Nonsense… I let you speak your piece out of respect, but all I heard was mud on the wall."

“Then allow this sword of mine do the talking."

CLANG.

CLANG.

CLANG.

A terrible yet beautiful sound erupted across the tourney grounds as Ser Arthur and Valaegor clashed their Valyrian Steel blades. Neither relented, neither weakened. It was a greater sight than any of the previous clashes, eclipsing Arthur's own duel against Ser Lyn and Ser Lyn's duel against Randyll Tarly.

While Arthur's blade could cut through plate like butter, Nightfall had met its match in Lady Forlorn. Valaegor realised this and used Lady Forlorn as his trusted shield, displaying swordsmanship that Arthur never knew he possessed.

They were equally matched...

For a long, long, long time...

Thirty minutes would pass by, and not a single eye would be drawn away from the fight, entranced in the dance of flames. One black as night and the other as radiant as the sun. It seemed as if Nightfall would burn at times, drawing from Lady Forlorn's flames and thinning them. Arthur would burn through some of Valaegor's armour while Valaegor would cut through the gaps in his armour. Each wound piled onto the next...

The end had neared.

"Why don't you give up..." Valaegor removed his helmet, tossing it at Arthur. "Turtle cunt... give up!"

Arthur batted it to the side with one swing, his vision growing blurry as his eyelids battled to be shut at last.

"I have not... and yet my body... has."

He dug Nightfall into the ground, trying to stand on it.

Yet, the strength in his body faded at last...

"Despite everything... I've lost."

He fell first.

"Damn you... foolish knight... you only fell first..." Valaegor spoke. "You've beaten me, fair and true... you are the greater warrior..."

Valaegor fell only a few seconds after.

"... Ser Arthur."

...

Arthur would be forced awake not soon after, finding himself in Edric's presence. He knelt down beside him, his deep blue eyes giving him strength.

"Seven Hells, who taught you to be so stubborn?"

"You... did, Edric... you did."

Arthur struggled to speak, closing his eyes with the clearest smile he could manage before falling into a deep slumber.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 69 (nice): Omen

[Arthur’s POV]

The crowd cheered as he stepped foot onto the tourney grounds and paced forward. 

This dance would be his greatest challenge in the duel tournament so far, this truth Arthur had little doubt of. Daman had won the normal footrace and the armored one, survived the onslaught of two of his fellow sworn brothers long enough for assistance to arrive, left Ser Loras frustrated and hadn't so much as taken a blow that Arthur would consider truly harmful. He was like a walking fortress of steel that had only been struck with wooden sticks.

Worst of all, he had never seen his movements slow or signs of him being weary. 

He fights at his own pace, Arthur thought. A slow, orderly pace. I would like to see him fight at mine.

Armed with Edric’s advice and his own strategy, Arthur gave himself a sense of confidence.

Daman removed his helmet with one hand, holding his shield in the other. His navy blue eyes studied him, wholly unfazed. Arthur did him the same courtesy, removing his. He did not blink. 

“You will test me today, Ser Arthur.” He admitted as he donned his helmet once more. “May the best warrior win.”

“May the best warrior win.”

Arthur repeated, putting on his helmet and drawing Nightfall. Its black blade glistened and howled as it left the scabbard - hungry for blood. So was the Valyrian Steel sword’s wielder.

Daman’s shield was a large steel extension of his plate armour, covering most of his arm and upper body facing Arthur. 

Arthur would slash horizontally across Daman’s shield, creating a terrible screech as his sword grazed across the shield. Daman would counter by pushing his shield forward in an attempt to bash him. Arthur took the forceful blow, stepping back. Daman would swing his chained mace for Arthur’s right shoulder.

Arthur recovered and immediately saw an opportunity, clashing his sword against the centre of the chain. He twisted his blade and curled the chain around it. Daman, unsuspecting of the move, saw Arthur tug with both of his arms, yanking the mace into the air and away from Daman’s grasp. He went down to grab it and rolled out of the way before Daman could capitalise.

“You are dexterous.” Daman remarked, sounding confident still.

Chained morningstar's were never Arthur’s speciality, but on this occasion… he chose to make use of it. He swapped hands, taking Nightfall in his left and the morningstar in his right. One of knight’s most recent curiosities had been wielding two weapons at once, having wielded Lady Forlorn alongside Nightfall and seen Gaegor in action. 

He had already practised swordsmanship in both hands, albeit his left wasn't nearly as good.

“Your intent is to break my defense by unorthodox means.” Daman pointed out. “You have not practiced this way of fighting much, have you?”

“What about it?”

“It’s a rather awful time to decide to be experimental.”

“Better than never.”

He proceeded to open with the morningstar, only for it to do minimal damage and Daman try shield bashing him. Arthur retreated in time, looking at the morningstar in dissatisfaction. Daman managed to give him the illusion that it was a good choice of weapon…

He turned to the end of the tourney grounds, retreating back.

“...”

Daman advanced after him confusedly. 

It was then that Arthur tossed the morningstar to the very corner of the grounds. 

“You can try getting it if you want.”

Daman did not seek to retrieve his morningstar. Rather, he remained still, patiently waiting for him to strike. Arthur would do so, his blade cutting through the air and clashing against his shield. He swiftly tilted the sword around it, only for Daman to counter by moving his shield barely a split second after. 

Though this did not impede the knight, far from it. Daman’s impenetrable defence led to Arthur feeling even more determined to cut through it. He would take Nightfall in both hands, cutting and piercing against his shield with great force. The cuts would graze it while the piercing strikes would be deflected by the steel shield…

Each time Daman tried to counter, Arthur retreated and shook his shield with another blow. He would try grappling his shield away and half-swording, performing numerous techniques as he tried to break through Daman's defence.

They would dance for over ten minutes, with Arthur being relentless while Daman did not even have a moment to counter...

Arthur began to breathe heavy - heavier than he should. Daman saw this as an opportunity to strike, only for Arthur to dash to the side and give him a thunderous blow to the head that sent him stumbling forward.

Arthur followed up with a strike to the kidney…

CLANG.

Daman shifted in time, blocking him.

“You pretended to be more weary than you were…” 

“Mayhaps I did.” Arthur spoke, changing his sword stance to an inside stance, pointing Nightfall at his opponent from chest height. “Either way, you underestimated me.”

“I won't make that mistake a second time.”

As Daman returned on the defensive, Arthur let his sword do the talking for him.

CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.

He continued his relentless onslaught, pushing Daman back. Nightfall seemed even blacker than before, reflecting its wielder's resolve.

I will cut through it…

Nightfall left its mark that time, slashing deeper than the relative scratches from before.

He shifted his sword, stabbing with all his strength.

PIERCE.

Nightfall went right through the steel shield. Daman retreated in shock while Arthur easily dragged his sword from the shield. Arthur would have been shocked, too, if not for the fire burning in his blood. All he saw was red.

I will cut through.

Before Daman could think of what to do, Arthur continued his brutal assault on his shield. He slashed down, the steel of the shield crying out as Nightfall forcefully cut its path. The steel resisted at the halfway point, only for Arthur to shift its blade and cut to the side.

I will cut through!!!

CLUNK.

A quarter of the shield flew to the side as if a beast had eaten into it.

Daman stumbled back as Arthur prepared another mighty swing.

He did not hesitate.

"I concede."

As he heard those words, he regained himself and stopped at Daman's shield. A look of surprise mirrored his inner thoughts. How in Seven Hells had I done that?

Daman's shield looked burnt where his sword had left it as if Nightfall had been enflamed. There was no flame, however, only the black blade that it always had.

"What did you do?" Daman questioned as if he would know.

"... Cut your shield, by the looks of it. If you mean to ask how, well..." Arthur shrugged. "I don't know."

"If the duel had continued as it went, I would have died." Daman turned away, shaking his head. "You are a most fearsome knight; I'll leave you to Valaegor."

~

[Edric's POV]

Seeing Arthur chopping up that shield like a thousand-degree knife cutting through a plastic bottle definitely wasn't on my list of probabilities. I was surprised, shocked even. Did Arthur find a way to fully utilise the magical elements of Nightfall, or did he unlock a form of magic? Surely, not even Valyrian Steel could have such cutting prowess on its own...

I briefly glanced at Raiden Shogun, wondering if she had an explanation.

"That was but a glimpse of the Pyro element." Raiden Shogun looked just as surprised as I. "The sparks that lead to a flame."

'The sparks that lead to a flame...' I looked at Arthur, grinning. Seeing him succeed gave me a feeling of... delight. Pride. Admiration, even. It was a greater sense of joy than winning on my lonesome. 'That's my bro.'

By all means, he should never be here. He should have never been a Kingsguard, wielded a Valyrian Steel sword, or possessed such skill... yet he does. Day after day, he sparred with me; we pushed each other to be better. We fought side by side in more skirmishes than I could count. Always... he sought to prove his worth and honour, never growing satisfied or content.

This endless hunger, the desire to become the finest knight you could be...

"It is not only a testament to the strength of his inner will and desires, but also your ability to inspire and motivate others. If he has begun to awaken power over fire, that is in great part due to your influence. You've always pushed him forward, after all."

Raiden Shogun added, stroking her chin as she looked at me with curiosity.

"In that case, you are not a mere wielder of the elements. My blessing originally only meant to give you electro, yet you also awakened anemo and hydro simultaneously of your own latent ability. That alone was unprecendented."

I kept my eyes on the tourney grounds, acting like I didn't see her.

"Since I gave you the last of my strength to keep you from dying, it seems to have led to more than just that. It left a seed; a seed that continuously evolves alongside you. This seed..."

"Has set you on the path of becoming an Archon; a God."

A God...

Though I claimed to be the 'Chosen Son of the Seven', I never truly saw myself as a godly figure. I was human, just like everyone else; only I was a king who wielded Storm Magic. It was nothing more than religious propaganda to garner support and yet...

It seems that I could very well become that.

Not because it was ever my ambition to be one, far from it... but rather as a consequence of the future that I seek.

"Are you alright?" Arya hit my arm, grabbing my attention. "That rock on the tourney grounds can't be that interesting."

"I was dozing off." I shook my head, smiling. "After such a brilliant display of martial prowess between such warriors, how can I look at anything lesser? My mind was frozen on it."

"Mhm." Arya raised a doubtful eyebrow.

"Tell me you weren't stuck on how he burned through that shield."

"I'm sure you've done better."

"Well..." I thought of the time I turned my sword into an electro lightsaber and began mowing through the Mountain Clansmen ranks. "Once or twice, mayhaps."

The quarterfinals continued, the second fight featuring the Red Viper and the Hound. While the Hound had certainly sustained his own wounds in the team melee, he had endured and dog-walked everyone in the duelling tournament - day by day. Meanwhile, Oberyn was only a day past getting that nasty cut to the side, a lariat and uppercut from Gaegor.

Though it was an intense fight, the Hound avoided getting cut in any gaps and eventually closed the gap by grasping Oberyn's spear, reeling him into a terrible headbutt and slashing his right shin.

The rest from there was history as a slower Oberyn was eventually overpowered by the Hound, who would claim victory.

In the third round, I saw Rhaerra approach Valaegor before the match. They seemed to talk about something - probably relating to not pissing off any more nobles.

If that was her advice, it fell on deaf ears.

At first, Valaegor and Garlan Tyrell looked evenly matched... and then they didn't. Valaegor parried Garlan's mace out of the way, turning the tides of their duel in the blink of an eye. He proceeded to smack him straight on the head, knocking the knight to the ground.

Garlan remained on the ground for well over ten seconds, leading to Valaegor winning.

"Are these the Seven Kingdom's mightiest warriors?!" Valaegor questioned, resting his poleaxe on his shoulder as he stepped over Garlan - using his head as a stepping stool. Part of me wished I had fought him in the melee. "All it takes is one blow, and you all crumble like a poorly baked pie!"

Amusingly enough, he seems to have forgotten losing to Arthur...

"Or is it that I, Valaegor Raelaereonor, Champion of R'hllor, simply have no equal in this land?!"

I narrowed my eyes at him, lazily raised my hand and lowered it.

BANG... BANG... BANG.

Three blows of thunder would consecutively strike the earth, all around Valaegor. Each one made him jump, along with everyone who bore witness to the sudden burst. Valaegor, naturally, looked the most dazed - having been nearly struck thrice.

As the shock passed, a roar of laughter sounded.

"Where is your Lord of Light now?!"

"That was the judgement of the Gods!"

"Return to Essos where you belong!"

The crowd started chucking garbage at him, and I couldn't help but laugh at the sight. He brought it on himself, really. Meanwhile, Valaegor took a long moment to recover from his shock. Once he did, flames lit his poleaxe and burned all the trash near him - seemingly making an altar around Garlan and himself.

"That was not the doing of your false gods!" Valaegor protested. "Do you name dragons as gods, because they breathe fire? The hand that procured lightning was your King's, who is one of R'hllor's chosen!"

"His Grace is the Chosen Son of the Seven!"

"How dare you proclaim our King as one of your own?!"

The crowd did not take kindly to his words, as a mini-religious war seemed to be brewing. I sighed, rising from my seat.

"SILENCE!"

Silence was the result.

Rain poured down onto the fire, putting it out in seconds.

"Get your foot off Ser Garlan's head before I step on yours." I looked down at Valaegor threateningly.

He stepped back, almost immediately.

"Now remove yourself from the tourney grounds and stop wasting everyone's time with your nonsensical declarations."

"Tsk."

Valaegor kissed his teeth before turning away and leaving.

I might not particularly like the Tyrells as a whole, but Ser Garlan was definitely one of the good ones. Truthfully, I was not fond of what I had witnessed. Though, a tourney is a tourney. If anyone sought to truly humble him now, it would be the remaining competitors.

Loras looked deeply unsettled and enraged; I could see it written across his face. He wanted to avenge his brother's honour.

~

[3rd person]

Before the final match of the quarterfinals.

Arthur stood in front of Loras.

"Ser Loras... I know how you must feel, but... I would suggest that you don't take it out on Brienne. She is just as determined as you, meaning that the Kingsguard as a whole would only lose from such a clash."

"You are suggesting that I should concede to her?" Loras frowned. "Why must I be the one to concede, why can't she-"

"For one, Brienne might just be better than you when it comes to duelling. Most importantly; you are our best jouster. You'd be no good if you suffered wounds against her and later the Hound. What matters to you more; losing later on in this tournament or proving your title as the greatest jouster in the Realm in the final event of the Greatest Tournament of our lifetime?"

"What of my honour as a warrior? What of my brother's honour?"

"I'll fight for it." Arthur proclaimed, looking directly into his eyes. He firmly grabbed both of his shoulders. "Ser Garlan is a friend of mine, as well. We share a friendship forged in battle where I trusted him with my life, and he trusted me with his. He dishonoured a close friend of mine, looked down on every warrior in the Realm and proclaimed our Gods to be false."

"..." Loras' frown eased slightly.

"Valaegor will not win this tournament." Arthur spoke with absolute confidence. "Even if I may not defeat him, I will leave a mark so great that any squire with a blunted sword may lay him low. I swear this on my white cloak - as your friend, Serjeant and sworn brother."

"... I-"

"Besides, our honour comes second before our King's. He bet his old armour on us winning more than those blue cloaks - and you know how sentimental he can be." Arthur managed a smile. "I ask of you to win where I will be unable to, Ser Loras. That is all."

He let go of his shoulders, turning away.

"In the end, it is your decision."

As Arthur walked away, Loras felt a similarity between him and the King...

Ser Loras would play to the crowd in his duel, before making an intentional mistake and 'losing' to Brienne. And so, the stage was set for the semi-finals. The Hound against Brienne and Ser Arthur against Valaegor. So far, the foreigner gave the impression that he was nigh invincible, simply playing with some of the Realm's finest knights.

...

During the night, in the eve of the fateful day, Edric called on Arthur.

They shared the view of Edric's favourite place in all of King's Landing; its highest tower. Edric laid back, enjoying the breeze that swept his face. When he opened his eyes to face Arthur, he felt refreshed.

"Isn't it a wonderful night? A sky full of stars and a whole moon."

"Aye, it is quite beautiful." Arthur nodded. "What did you want to see me for?"

"Nothing much, really. Just a few words."

"Surely it's more than that. We did not climb all those steps for an unimportant remark."

"You know me, I like to set the scene." I nodded, smiling. "You've become a truly extraordinary person, Arthur. I do not mean that as flattery, either. I mean it from the bottom of my heart. You even inspired me."

"I... am honoured."

"No, I am. I could not ask for a friend as loyal, a knight as honourable, nor a Kingsguard more worthy to serve me."

Arthur bent the knee, leading to Edric raising an eyebrow.

"I would say the same to you, Edric. All the great kings of the past could rise from the dead all at once and I would still lay my sword at your feet. You granted me the greatest honours a knight could seek, a sword without price and a worthy cause to dedicate my entire life towards. My life, everything that I have to give, is yours."

"Look at you." Edric smiled, raising his hand. "Get off the ground, I need you to stand proud."

Arthur nodded, taking Edric's hand, and then he lifted him up with ease. Edric proceeded to wrape his arms around his friend, embracing him tightly.

"I am most fortunate to have you..."

"Edric, how do you intend for me to fight tomorrow if you break my bones-"

"I'm not that strong, am I?"

"You are that strong."

"Hmm... Edric Breakbones." Edric chuckled, shaking his head. "It doesn't have the same ring to it as Edric Storm, does it?"

"I'd say... it doesn't."

Edric patted his back before letting go.

"Get some sleep, good Ser. You'll need it against the Val cunt."

"You shouldn't linger about, either. The maidens tend to prowl about in the night."

"The only maiden in my bed shall be the Maiden, spreading her love and warmth to me in her soft embrace."

"Certainly." Arthur laughed at the absurdity of it. "Ser Loras will be covering the night shift, so you don't have much to worry about."

"Is that sarcasm I hear?"

"Sarcasm? Why, Ser Loras is amongst the best fighters in the Realm, a sworn brother of the Kingsguard who had never once failed in a night shift. He only once slipped in a rose out of love for his King."

"Only a rose!" Edric laughed, shaking his head. "Indeed, he did."

"In all truth, I doubt that happens again. If it does, I shall take responsibility and change my white cloak for a black one."

"... You're taking the position of Serjeant in earnest, I see." Edric nodded approvingly. "Good. Though, never in my life would I subjugate you to the Wall."

"Nor would Ser Loras let another rose slip."

After their good time together, the two parted. Ser Arthur went to rest in the White Sword Tower while Edric exhausted his magic - practising his craft. He made sure to use it up all in one go before going down for a good rest.

On the next day, two raging flames would clash in a dance of fire.

(Poor Hound, he can never escape fire...)

Raiden's Storm Chapter 68: Future Plans

[Edric’s POV]

A hand shook me awake - Arthur’s hand, I realised rather quickly.

“You’ve overslept, Your Grace.”

I felt groggy, despite Arthur’s statement.

“By how much?”

“Not by much. I didn’t want to disturb your rest, but you have quite a number of duties to attend to today… such as breaking your fast with Lord Arryn and his future wife."

I rubbed my eyes.

“Give me a moment.”

“Of course.”

As Arthur departed, I was left with my thoughts.

I had no way of knowing if that was the real Daenerys or not so I had been winging it and acting as if my ‘invasion’ was intentional. If it wasn’t real, then… what is that even called? A schizo dream?  You think you’re connecting with someone real in a dream, yet it turns out to be an illusion of your own creation…

Perhaps it was a lucid dream of sorts.

Or a Green Dream… yet those are supposed to be prophetic by nature. 

If it were real, perhaps I could harness that ability and invade people’s dreams intentionally. Now that would be quite the power. A vassal is acting up? I pull up to his dreams and scare the ever-living shit out of him.

Though, it’s greatest use would be with people from even greater distances. Sending letters from King’s Landing to Mereen is a logistical nightmare, even for the almost magical ravens of this world. It would take multiple ravens across the Free Cities to reach Slaver’s Bay, which would drastically increase the chances of something going awry.

The only person who could manage that effectively would be Varys… 

"That was the genuine Daenerys," Raiden remarked.

"... How would you know?" I questioned.

"I can discern between reality and illusion, seeing the truth in all things. Though the stage itself was an illusion, your spirits were not."

"Uh-oh." I stroked my chin. "That makes matters quite interesting... but where were you to see it?"

"I have my ways."

Either I made Daenerys want to cook me even more, or actually consider my alliance. You never know with these Targaryens. Then again, who am I to call a person unpredictable?

Well, I shouldn’t keep Harold waiting too long.

I swiftly got dressed, not giving too much mind in what I was wearing.

Not too long after, I walked into the dining hall, and everyone instantly rose to their feet. It was the usual family gathering, except Lord Harrold and his soon-to-be-wife was part of it.

“You look like you just rolled out of bed a few moments ago.” Arya chuckled.

“I mean no offence, Your Grace, but you have seen better days.” Harrold Arryn added.

“Still better than every other man’s best day.” I boasted with confidence, though it was intended as a jest. 

“While confidence is good and well, it cannot mask the truth. I thought I had taught you better...” Renly mused with a slight grin. “Mayhaps I should have the servants tidy you up.”

“I came here to eat, not look pretty.” I replied, shaking my head. “Though I appreciate either gesture, uncle, I can tend to myself.”

“Growing boys tend to be quite rebellious…” Renly remarked under his breath, sighing.

“I see no issue.” Stannis countered. “His Grace looks well enough. If he spent half as much time on his looks as you do, nothing would get done."

"Says the dullest man in the Red Keep." Renly chuckled.

"Enough about my appearance, I'm starving."

I walked over to my seat next to Arya and sat down. Everyone followed suit. I didn't waste much time with the chicken in front of me, ripping away a sizeable part of its wing with my teeth.

"Even I did not imagine the Grand Tournament to be so great a spectacle," Harrold remarked, changing the topic. "Those foreigners, albeit insolent and dishonourable, have provided a stage for your Kingsguard to shine even more brilliantly."

"All in your honour, Lord Arryn." I raised a cup of water to him.

"Hahaha, I can't help but feel that my own marriage has been overshadowed by it." Harrold jested, shaking his head with a clear smile.

"When the brilliant Lord of the Vale walks the altar beside his beautiful wife, the tournament will be but a passing memory," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "Men prefer to live in the moment, after all. Besides, the glory and prestige of the Grand Tournament is in great part thanks to you."

"You honour me, Your Grace." Harrold bowed his head an angle lower. "I do have a mind to join the lists, if you would allow it."

"Why wouldn't I?" I chuckled.

"I thought it might be improper to participate as I am a host."

"May the best man win, I say." I shook my head. "Wouldn't it be a grand affair, besting every knight in your path and naming your wife-to-be as the queen of love and beauty?"

"That is precisely why I asked, Your Grace."

Harrold's confident reply had certainly taken his fiance, who blushed silently. To be in love...

I smiled.

"Albeit quite unlikely," Renly remarked, shrugging. "I believe Ser Loras would seek to outperform even his standards."

"There is no dishonour in losing to the finest lance in the Seven Kingdoms," Harrold replied rather humbly.

"Will you be in the lists as well, Your Grace?" Sansa questioned.

"Of course." I firmly nodded. "I won't just be attending, however. I am determined to be the joust's champion."

"In which case, you'll take my favour," Arya added, glaring at me. I don't think she took kindly to me wearing Margaery's...

"Naturally."

"The lists just got more exciting." Harrold remarked, eating his food with grace. "I heard word of a potential journey North after my marriage... is it true?"

"Aye, I will need to inspect the Wall's defences and settle an upcoming wildling invasion." I nodded.

"In which case, the Knights of the Vale would be thrilled to offer their swords in your name."

"Though I am honoured by the gesture, that will not be necessary." I shook my head. "The time it will take to gather your banners will be too long. Also, the Wall would only need a thousand men to repel any sort of Wildling invasion, which the North most certainly has. It would be a waste of resources."

"I see that you are eager to serve, Lord Harrold, but His Grace and the North's banners should be enough to trample on any wildling army," Renly added. "Rather, you should save your time and men, enjoy the blisful begginings of your marriage."

"I do not know how I would feel knowing that my King is freezing in the North and facing the Realm's enemies while I sit still in the Vale." Harrold countered, taking a sincere and loyal tone as he placed his hand on his chest.

"My uncle is right; you should be at ease. Matter of fact, that is a command. You'd best not leave the Vale, nor your wife's side." I smiled, pointing at the couple. "By the time I return from the North, you better have an heir on the way."

"Your Grace..." Ysilla Royce blushed bashfully.

"I..." Harrold looked surprised for a moment before chuckling. "As you wish, Your Grace."

"Good."

The topic stayed on the North as I had my fill. Sansa had asked if she could come with me, and I agreed to it. After all, the North was her birthplace and where much of her family lived. It would be a Stark reunion.

Naturally, Arya was even more enthusiastic - especially about going to the Wall. Undoubtedly, she missed Jon Snow most of all.

After breaking my fast, I discovered Princess Arianne camping my path. Not literally, of course, but she was clearly waiting for me with a smug expression. Something had made her exceptionally joyful today.

"What has you looking so pleased?"

"You should thank me, Your Grace. I made lady Margaery depart for Highgarden."

I raised an eyebrow. What is she up to?

"In essence, we made a bet on the duel between my uncle and that silver-head. The loser would have to leave your presence for a year."

"... Is that so?" I looked surprised. The ends these women would go to belittle each other...

"You ladies play too many games."

"Try to be more honest, Your Grace. You must be quite pleased to see that treacherous woman out of your sight."

"On the contrary, it makes little difference. I wager that I'll be doing a lot of traveling in the next year."

"I am curious as to where."

"First, to the North... then mayhaps the Summer Isles. At some point, I have a mind to complete a royal progression across the entire Realm."

"Sunspear would eagerly have you." Arianne smiled. "One place that you must see is the Water Gardens. The heat would melt all your worries away and the water would wash them out of sight. It is Dorne's paradise."

"After freezing myself so far up North, I'd probably need some heat in my life." I smiled, shrugging my shoulders. "I'll consider it, Arianne. Besides that, I take it you won't be going North, will you?"

"The North is no place for a princess of Dorne." Arianne admitted, shaking her head. "The deep cold is quite like poison to us."

"Isn't it to most?" I countered. "Only Northmen have the luxury of being used to it."

"Your bethrothed is surely pleased by the arrangement."

"Oh, she is jumping with excitement. It's quite heartwarming."

"I am pleased to see that the incident with lady Margaery hasn't caused a rift between you two. It would've been a terrible consequence."

"Bonds are curious things. They can be easily made, and just as easily broken." I remarked, walking forward. "As I see it, a bond can't ever be considered true and meaningful if it hasn't been tried and tested, over and over again - emerging stronger still."

"Your wisdom is always food for the mind, Your Grace." Arianne kept her smile. "The young lady Stark is most fortunate to have you."

"It would please me if you did better to hide your envy. Or rather, not have it at all."

"Oh, that's quite impossible, Your Grace." She sighed, shaking her head. "I am helplessly in love. No amount of pious prayer can rid me off the feelings that I hold for you."

"You mistake desire for love; it will pass."

As I walked past her, she grabbed my hand.

"How much would one night hurt you?"

"It would not hurt me in the slightest," I replied, tilting my head. "Yet, you know where I stand."

I made a promise, and I intend to keep it.

"You are not tied to anyone as of yet, not until your marriage is properly consummated. Why not enjoy yourself?"

"I've made my reasons clear before, have I not? Don't waste my time."

I raised my hand and freed it from Arianne's clutches, walking past her.

"Hm..." Arianne made a sound of disapproval.

~

To open the quarterfinals, Daman and Ser Arthur would face each other.

The shield that could block any attack against the sword that found its way against the thickest of defences.

This duel would be determined by whether or not Ser Arthur could storm Daman's defences early on, who has proven his endurance to be elite. Before it began, however, I made sure to speak with my boy.

"How are you feeling?"

"Slightly anxious, admitedly." Arthur scratched his hair. "I haven't fought an opponent like him before."

"He is something I'd call a turtle." I smiled, thinking of the time I was into For Honor. Conquerors were the worst. "He'll always wait for you to strike, choosing to block or counter depending on the opportunity."

"So I've seen. What do you think happens if I don't attack?"

"Then we're in for the longest duel of this tournament." I chuckled.

"Not only is Daman physically strong, quick and durable, but he is also always level-headed. Everything he does is with victory in mind." Arthur replied, stroking his chin. "It is like facing a patient, fearsome bear under a turtle's shell."

"He is an orderly, fundamental, fighter," I replied, patting his shoulder. "You have to be more... unorthodox. Forceful. If he gives you room to attack, attack and keep on attacking - overwhelm him. Be wary of any counters and try to find a way to get rid off his shield."

"Once you do that... you win."

"It would be easier with a warhammer." Arthur remarked.

"You have Valyrian Steel. You should be cutting through that shield like cake."

"... Of course, Edric." Arthur laughed. "You're right."

Though Valyrian Steel wasn't exactly lightsaber-esque, with enough force and attempts... it should triumph over any defence. It is steel with magical properties, after all.

"Best of luck to you, my friend."

I firmed my grasp on his shoulder before letting go. We exchanged nods before he turned away and walked to the tourney grounds.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 67: The Stag And Dragon

[Daenerys’ POV]

One dream had led to another, until a great storm enveloped it all and brought her back to her bedchamber. Even though it seemed like it, she was entirely sure that she hadn't woken yet.  

When she left her bed and looked outside, an uninvited figure came to greet her. His hair was black as night, contrasting with his bright blue eyes. He was as Viserys would have described a more youthful Robert Baratheon. If there was any doubt as to who he was, his head was adorned with a crown, and his regal clothing took the colours and sigil of House Baratheon.

Though a youthful and boyish face, his muscular figure easily towered over her smaller frame and possessed height that surpassed even her late husband’s by a noticeable amount.

“I hadn't thought our first meeting would be in your bedchamber, but alas…” His lips curled into a confident grin. “You're shorter than I even thought you would be.”

Something felt strange. It was a dream - yet it felt true. Genuine. Had Edric Storm found a way to invade her dreams through some sort of magic?

Even more egregious were the first words that left his mouth and the tone they carried.

He spoke as if they were on good enough terms to jest… which was far from true. For Daenerys, he was the son of the Usurper and the one who occupied the throne that was hers by right.

“What does the bastard of a usurper have to say to me?”

“How harsh…” He looked up, observing his glowing crown. “Just so you know, I don't sleep with my crown.”

“Answer me.”

“Or else?” Edric questioned. “You'll come west and try to take my crown? You were planning on doing so regardless-”

“Your crown?” Daenerys' raised an eyebrow in doubt.

“Humour me, who between us sits the Iron Throne while the other is on the other side of the known world making a poor attempt at ruling some slaver cities?”

“Sitting on the Iron Throne does not validate your illegitimacy. If you do not cede, you will be conquered in time.” 

“Why do you even want the Iron Throne?” He turned away, walking back to the balcony from which he had entered. “The power? The respect, admiration? The love of the people? It's all right here.”

“It is my right and duty. I am the blood of the dragon, the last of the Targaryens. You will either bend the knee or perish to my dragon’s flames alongside all the other rebels who side with you.”

“You want me to bend the knee?” Edric turned back to her. 

“You could have some use as a knight.” 

Daenerys admitted. From what she had heard from Ser Barristan, Edric Storm was not his father’s lesser in any measure in battle despite his youth. Besides, his support would go a long way in regards to willing the rest of the Realm to her side. 

“Hahahahaha…” Edric broke into laughter. “Would you wish for me to kiss your feet as well? Keep your bed warm?”

He is quite the jester, Daenerys thought. Though, in this way, he had subtly dispelled some of her hostility.

“You would do whatever I ask of you."

“The delusion some Targaryens possess is exceptional, indeed. Do you realise how much of a foreigner you truly are? You might have the blood, but you are no Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“That is an opinion that strays from the truth.”

“My opinion? No, that is how the entire Realm thinks, from North to South, men in their dying breaths to young babes taking their first. They all deny your forged titles, your ‘right’ and claim to the throne.”

“It makes no difference.” Daenerys countered. “I will give all of your lords two choices as Aegon the Conqueror did before me. To kneel or die.”

“Dragons can be a persuasive force, I suppose. But - look at it this way; you are the former wife of an enslaving and warmongering horse lord, the daughter of the Mad King who tore the Realm into rebellion, the sister of a delusional brother who 'educated' you for most of your life, a ‘queen’ who has an army of slaves at her back and has displayed boundless ruthlessness by killing countless nobles in the east. You are a stranger hardly anyone supports, and the scarce few that do, only do it blindly because of your blood.”

“The fact that you even have the audacity to claim all of your titles from the other side of the world is quite amusing. How in Seven Hells are you Protector of the Realm? Who have you protected in the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Were you not the one who ran from King’s Landing the moment you were legitimised as a prince?” Daenerys deflected. "In what capacity are you fit to be the king when you could so easily ignore your duty and chase your personal wishes?"

“Aye, I did.” Edric nodded with confidence. “However, two can play that game. Tell me who was the sheepish, obedient and innocent girl who just wanted a home? Would you have denied Ser Barristan if he had come only two to three years prior?”

As he spoke, his eyes glared into hers and shined a deep purple light. That light was like a sword piercing her heart and soul, digging deeper than anyone had dared. How did he even know so much? She was left too surprised to speak, leaving him way to continue.

“You didn't give a rat’s ass about the Iron Throne, which, amusingly enough, made the two of us. There's nothing wrong with that. I didn't choose to be King, yet it fell upon me, and I rose to the occasion, binding the Realm together in a time of war. You gained three dragons and, rather than living idly, you chose to do what you believe is right with this newfound power.”

“Are we all that different, Daenerys? Is it written in the stars that one of us must die to appease the corrupting beast that is the Iron Throne?”

"Is that the sole reason you are King - because it fell upon you?" Daenerys questioned.

If he does not wish for war, he could easily throw away his crown just as he had done in that dream.

"In part." He smiled, turning to the stars. "I've realised that I alone can carve the future I seek for myself, the Realm and even the known world. The Iron Throne and all the power, influence and resources that come with it shall be the hammer I wield to forge the path forward in this turbulent age."

"What future would that be?"

"An age of gold." He turned back to her, leaning against the balcony as if he belonged. Though, he did smile, nor jest. Daenerys knew that he was entirely serious. "I shall make my Seven Kingdoms the greatest and most prosperous empire since the dawn of time. It will never be forgotten... not until no man remains to speak of it. And so, I shall live on for an eternity."

It seemed as if they sought similar ends regarding the Seven Kingdoms, only that they were on separate sides.

"We don't have to fight, you know." He spoke to her feelings, standing up from the ledge. "Matter of fact, instead of waging war on me and losing-"

"I'd lose?" Daenerys scoffed, interrupting his speech. "I'll have three fully-grown dragons, ten thousand unsullied and-"

"Try trespassing my seas." Edric stepped forward, and for the first time, he gave Daenerys a sense of dread. His eyes had glowed purple, a darker tone. Even his voice grew deeper and louder, striking like lightning. "Your ships would sink, your little army would drown, and I would shoot your dragons out of the bloody sky."

Thunder boomed in the skies, and lightning struck the earth behind him.

"By the end of it, I would've ravaged you and your forces so terribly you would be wishing for a way to turn back time and run with your tail between your legs - forgetting all about the Iron Throne."

"I..." She didn't want to look lacking in confidence, it was unbecoming of her, yet she felt overwhelmed.

"A fair warning, princess. Waging war on each other wouldn't benefit either of us greatly, least of all you." His expression lightened into a cheerful smile as if he hadn't just threatened her. The swift way in which he had changed, seemingly in the blink of an eye, truly bewildered her. "The other option is you lay aside the Iron Throne. We can join hands in a mutual alliance, helping each other build a better world. To that end... we would be nigh unstoppable."

"Your dragons and my magic would dominate the known world."

"First you threaten me in that manner, then you cheerfully propose an alliance?" Daenerys composed herself, her fear washing away as Edric changed. "You are a rather terrible negotiator, the worst I had ever met."

"I just wanted you to know the realistic choices that lay before you, and the ends they will lead to." He shrugged his shoulders casually. "I could be a dream that makes yours come true or a nightmare that drowns you in hopelessness. The best part of it all, you, Daenerys, get to choose which one you want through your actions."

Daenerys found herself conflicted, swayed even. She had called him a terrible negotiator to his face, yet his words had left a deep impression on her. At that moment, she found the prospect of working together more enticing than facing him.

On the other end, she sought to turn his arrogance into ashes in his mouth. She didn't believe he could shoot her dragons out of the sky, yet he had said it with such confidence... which left her doubting.

"Is that why you sent Ser Barristan to me?" Daenerys didn't want to make a decision right away, changing the topic slightly. "For this 'alliance'? By sending the Lord Commander of your Kingsguard, it seems you wanted more than just a simple agreement through words."

"What are you suggesting?" He acted clueless, yet his lips curled into a smug grin. It was an attempt at making her speak more plainly.

"Don't act stupid."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." He lied, in a jestful tone.

"..." She sighed, shaking her head. "Marriage, of course."

"Ooooh." He acted surprised. "What brought you to such a conclusion?"

"Isn't it obvious? You would no longer have to fret about my claim, nor my dragons. They would become an asset for you. Our marriage would strengthen your legitimacy and that of your heirs greatly. It would be just as you said; we would be nigh unstoppable. That marriage would serve to keep the alliance together, in union."

"You sound quite fond of the idea, now - even advertising it to me." Edric stroked his chin. "And you called me a terrible negotiator, yet I made you start thinking of me as a King and potential suitor - rather than some lapdog you can point at your enemies and rule over. In our first meeting, no less."

"I was not advertising it, merely stating what I believe your plan to have been." Daenerys countered, shaking her head. "It is quite sound, for you."

"For me?" He raised a doubtful eyebrow. "It would be the finest outcome for you, princess. Alas, I have no intentions of marrying you, for I am not a person who turns my back on the people who support me. You see, I am already betrothed."

"Besides, for this alliance, a marriage is not a necessity - but a luxury."

"I disagree, for I would be losing much and gaining very little." Daenerys countered.

"I suppose that is true." Edric smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "I am quite the catch. It must hurt knowing you can't wake up to me every day."

"I meant the Iron Throne." Daenerys scoffed, shaking her head. "Why would I care about you, the bastard son of the Usurper?"

"Tss, those hurtful, poisonous words again." Edric sighed, though Daenerys was certain he did not care. "The true reason I sent Ser Barristan was to show you my goodwill when my Small Council chose to overrule me and have you assassinated. It was the one card I could've played with absolute certainty..."

"So, you're telling me you don't have control over your Small Council?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow.

"It was the one matter they strongly disagreed with, all of them - seeing me as a foolish child. It was the very beginning of my reign; things have changed since then."

"I see..." Daenerys nodded. "To what end?"

"Indeed, to what end..." Edric mused, looking more sincere. "I hoped for us to work side by side in the Long Night to come, rather than being enemies before it. You could, for once, live up to the title of Protector of the Realm."

"The Long Night?" Daenerys questioned. She hadn't heard of such a thing before.

"My greatest obstacle, my priority. If I cannot overcome it, I can forget about my ambitions. Matter of truth... if I can't win, everyone; man, woman, child, old, young, rich, poor... everyone living... will be vanquished by the Others."

"There is no running, there is no hiding; it will only delay the inevitable. They will engulf the entire world in ice. That is the burden that I alone carry; the fate of mankind."

"Quite preposterous of you to believe that the world's fate lies in your hands." Daenerys countered, even though she found his words convincing. They flowed fluently with charisma and purpose, as if a hero from some ancient song had come to life before her.

"It is not some boisterous, arrogant, delusional lie to make myself feel important, no... it is a harsh truth." He frowned slightly, shaking his head. "I... hated it. I despised it. I didn't choose the life of some grand hero who would bring salvation to everyone. That's not the kind of person I am. I didn't think I was worthy or capable, and that kind of burden was the last thing I desired. I thought... why should I give my life to others?"

"Yet, in time, I grew to accept it. For, if I had not, what would be the end that awaited me and those who I care for? The people who I wanted to protect? In time, that desire further extended to the Realm as a whole as I took my duty in earnest. That is why I am King and will never give up my crown to anyone."

He seemed to genuinely believe it. Perhaps there was some truth to it...

Suddenly, the dream began to show cracks, and Edric saw his figure fading.

"I guess that's it..." Edric's concerned expression faded into a smile. "Tell me one thing, Daenerys, how is my man Ser Barristan?"

“I had him imprisoned and questioned,” Daenerys spoke the truth, rather bluntly.

"I see." His smile faded as he sighed. "He has lived through the history that most men alive can only read of; he is wise, honourable, loyal... he would never betray you, for I sincerely commanded him to shield you."

"..."

His eyes had that threatening glare once more, only much calmer. Strangely, she found that more chilling.

"I would not forgive you for wasting his twilight years by leaving him to rot away in some stinking cell. Nor would I forgive myself for leading him to such a fate..."

As he said his last words and faded from her dreams, Daenerys finally woke from her slumber.

She had much to think of... and do.

~

Author's Note: The more I wrote, the more ideas came to me, and this scene ended up taking up the entire chapter as the two yapped away (mainly Edric, man had a lot to say... maybe too much). I thought it was pretty interesting to explore some things, though. Dany and Edric don't speak often (more accurately, never), so this kind of makes up for it and sets up some future events.

(Free my boy Ser Barristan, he did nothing wrong...)

Barbarian's Path To Multiversal Domination Chapter 15: The Negotiator

“Back so soon.” Grace stated, sighing with a tone of disatisfaction. “How am I supposed to make our cook feel comfortable with you barging in every five minutes?-"

"ERINAAAH!"

Dennis charged forward like thunder, jolting her with a bear hug. Erina was as shocked as she was terrified. He could break her like a twig with the slightest bit of pressure.

"When I went to eat in the Red Keep, they served the most terrible shit I've ever eaten..." He rubbed her back gently, sniffling - almost crying as if he were a child missing his mother. "I miss your cooking so much..."

Grace raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. The envy in her heart was hard to deny. The way her cooking had affected him... it was an ability that she did not possess.

"You're suffocating the poor girl."

"Right... I'm sorry." Dennis chuckled, backing away. "You're going to cook for me, right? That awful taste is still in my mouth."

"... Sure..."

Erina slowly nodded. Not like she had much of a choice in the matter.

“Lyanna, why did you…” Rhaegar questioned, looking back. 

“Just by passing that strange mirror…” Lyanna looked bewildered.

Dennis turned back and made note of the three baboons who had trespassed into his domain; Queen Lyanna Stark, Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Arthur Dayne. He frowned, looking down on them.

“I might need to write up some guidebooks or something at this point.” Grace stroked her chin in thought. “Well, never mind that. Should I send the unwanted visitors on their way?"

“Hmm…” Dennis suddenly grinned, his frown dissipating. “You know what, since they wanted to come here so badly, they might as well stay. I do need more workers, right? To work a farm and all of that business."

“Mhm.” Grace nodded before raising a doubtful eyebrow. “However… the people you brought here aren't exactly farmers. One was born a lady while the other two were highborn turned knights.”

“They'll learn.” Dennis shrugged. “The knights aren't that bad at fighting, either. They could fight the weaklings when I go out next time.”

“RHAEGAAAAAR!!!”

A battle roar permeated through the main hall of the domain as a figure of great strength stomped forward, his great antlered helm reminding Rhaegar of the moment his life had almost ended. He held his famed, heavy, warhammer in one hand while the other pointed it at the king. 

Rhaegar braced himself, stepping back until he was only a step in front of his Kingsguard.

“Y-you’re here? But I killed you-”

“You, kill me?” Robert Baratheon laughed at the absurdity. “My warhammer caved your bloody chestplate and spread all those pretty rubies across the ford. You don't remember though, do you? I'll make you remember, ooh, I'll make you fucking remember!”

“That's the Demon of the Trident?” Dennis blinked, not frightened in the slightest. “It's just old Robb.”

“It's the original, the one who won… except he's buffed up a little.”

“Oh?” Dennis looked at Robert with curiosity. “So, he'd give me a better fight than last time?”

“Since he shares the same epithet, he scales off of you a little. So, yes, he most definitely would.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Also, you shouldn't worry about losing your singer. Anything that dies here comes alive again… eventually.”

Dennis nodded. “So they can fight without consequences…”

It was a reminder of his first true battle, after all. It was like the memory of a sweet first kiss to Dennis.

Robert charged Rhaegar, only to be intercepted by his Kingsguard. Robert dodged Dawn and deflected Ser Barristan, snacking the knight clean across the head - almost taking it clean off. For a moment, Arthur looked in bewilderment. Did my guy really get cooked like that?

Ser Arthur shook himself out of it, swinging the great sword Dawn down at Robert vertically. The Demon of the Trident swiftly sidestepped in response, smashing his Warhammer against the chest of his plate. That armour crumbled like Galaxy ripples (the chocolate) as the knight got on his knees.

BANG.

Robert swung his Warhammer against his head and sent the knight all the way down.

Meanwhile, Rhaegar had snuck up behind Robert and prepared to pierce one of the gaps in his armour.

Pierce.

CLANG.

Robert had shifted his leg, deflecting his sword against the side of his sabatons. He swiftly turned 180 degrees, raising his leg and kicking it against the side of Rhaegar. The King stumbled back.

“Look at you, sneaking about.” Robert laughed. “I thought there was a rat in my Overlord’s keep, but alas, it was a dragonspawn. Not just any dragonspawn - The Last Dragon - BAHAHAHAHAA!”

“Damn you…” Rhaegar stepped back.

“For context, the reason why he's enjoying himself is because Rhaegar stole his betrothed - Lyanna Stark - which was one of, if not the most important reasons for Robert’s Rebellion. Since he killed him once, Robert has dreamed of killing him again every night…”

“It looked like she did loved every bit of Rhaegar.” Dennis remarked.

“Well, yeah, she's more of a prince charming girl.” Grace smiled as she thought of something devious. “You could show her the light, what a real man is like, if you wish. Maybe in front of beloved  Rhaegar…”

Grace’s degenerate thoughts made Dennis chuckle.

“You horny witch.”

Meanwhile, Rhaegar had made an attempt at combating an amped Robert Baratheon - to little avail. The Robert he fought at the Trident had been both weaker and injured (which he should've lost to anyways)… this was a completely different beast. Robert was practically toying with him.

CLANG.

Robert smacked Rhaegar’s sword hand, his sword clattering to the ground.

“Now you die!”

As Robert swung his Warhammer, Rhaegar turned back and ran to Dennis - hiding behind him. 

“Hiding behind my Overlord? That is pathetic, even for you.”

Seeing Rhaegar run from Robert and hide behind another man like a frightened child was quite the aversion for Lyanna Stark. As much as she might love him, subconsciously she couldn't help but think less of him. 

“This is your home, is it not? You can't allow that wild stag to run rampant here…”

“Wild stag?” Dennis grinned slightly. “This is the jungle where only the strong thrive. If you can't defend yourself against him - then just get stronger. If you can't, then you'll just keep dying. It's as simple as that.”

Dennis grabbed Rhaegar’s shoulder and dragged him to Robert, kicking him forward for an extra push.

BANG.

Robert smacked Rhaegar clean on the head, knocking him out cold. He then turned to Lyanna, stepping forward.

“You wear a crown.” He remarked, resting his warhammer on his shoulder. “For how long have you enjoyed that dragonspawn’s embrace?”

“What does it matter to you?” Lyanna frowned.

“Shameless whore.”

“What will you do? Strike me?”

“That's the least that I should do.” Robert stepped forward. “Not because of what you did to me, no… because you dared to trespass into my Overlord’s domain uninvited-”

“Are you done?” Dennis questioned casually, scratching his hair. “I got shit to do.”

Robert stopped immediately, turning his attention to Dennis

He eyed Dennis and removed his stag helmet. The Demon knelt on one knee, placing both warhammer and helmet on the ground. He even went so far as to lower his head.

“Forgive me, my Almighty Overlord. I was only acting according to what I perceived as your will. I am wholeheartedly loyal to you and you alone. You are my Overlord, My King, My God. You may use me in any way you deem fit.”

“... Okay.” Dennis chuckled, shaking his head. This guy was a bit much. “You’ll be babysitting those lot and doing whatever Grace asks.”

“Her word is as good as yours.”

“So, what's next?” Dennis turned to Grace. 

“You can either consolidate your power here or get a more easily impressionable group of people to attain the Whip of Authority. With it, you can temporarily command anyone weaker than you. Constant use makes this effect more permanent.”

".... How long until Rhaegar wakes up?"

"An hour or so."

"I'm going to bring in my assassins then." Dennis decided, cracking his knuckles. "But first... I need some good food."

"Might I mention Erina used up all of the ingredients I've provided to satisfy your appetite last time?" Grace replied, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, you just ate... twice. You can't be that hungry."

"I only need a little bit."

"Your little bit is like ten servings."

"Well, if there aren't any ingredients, then we still need to get some." Dennis stroked his chin in thought. "Erina should be pretty good at that since she's a cook."

"Yes, she is quite rich as well with plenty of infuence. It would be no more than a phone call for her."

"Then she can go back home for a few hours." Dennis shrugged.

"That's oddly caring of you."

"Well, if she likes me more, her cooking should be better too." Dennis blatantly stated his thoughts.

"Uh-huh. You should get going, I'll make the arrangements."

Dennis nodded, stepping into the portal that appeared in front of him.

"Well, isn't this awkward." Grace observed Lyanna Stark and then Robert. "Why don't you take their bodies into the stable alongside Lyanna. I'm going to help Erina with her shopping."

"I'll babysit them." Robert nodded.

...

When Dennis emerged in the streets near the Castello, the crowd parted like the Red Sea. The memory of his slaughter was fresh, having only happened a day prior. He had tainted the river red with the blood of Borgia guards and left a stench that made the people who sought to clean the mess fall unconscious from disgust - or add to it with fresh vomit.

To Dennis, however, this smell was perfectly arousing.

It made him feel like bloodletting some more.

Alas, he had a set goal in mind. The remains of the Italian Assassin Brotherhood.

He turned away from the Castello and soared to the rooftops, flashing from building to building. He took great joy in his supreme athleticism, the exhilaration that came with parkouring so swiftly that it seemed like he was flying was quite great. It was almost as good as dominating an entire army.

Soon enough, he made his way to the hideout and kicked the door down rather carelessly.

They wouldn't be needing it anymore, after all.

Dennis strolled into the main chamber and observed the bewildered expressions of his former sisters.

"You bitches still alive and kicking?" Dennis grinned, stepping forward. "I thought you'd all die without me."

"You forget that we are full-fledged Assassins, Mentor." Romola replied, smiling with confidence. "We can handle ourselves."

"When Ezio and all the others vanished, that's not what I was hearing."

"Those were different times. Borgia influence has completely crumbled since you slaughtered almost every man who would pick up a sword for them. All thanks to you."

"You can thank me by coming along. You and everyone else here." Dennis scanned his gaze across the hall, meeting eyes with every assassin. "If you don't, I'll fucking murder you. Simple."

"... I cannot speak for everyone else, but I will follow you wherever you wish, Mentor."

"I too."

"The threat is rather unnecessary, Mentor."

All four of the sisters he backpacked for all of those missions proved to be wholly loyal to him. Given their seniority, as well, the rest followed. Dennis didn't have to force his hand at all.

"My time here wasn't wasted."

A portal appeared and Dennis took all of the assassins with him. Since the assassins were already loyal to him, he instantly attained the Whip of Authority.

Meanwhile, in another dimension...

Totsuki Culinary Academy had become a media hellstorm after Dennis' 'incident' where countless students had been killed, and the director's granddaughter vanished into what seemed thin air. Erina would've been smothered with interviews if it hadn't been for her grandfather.

"I thought I had lost you..." Senzaemon Nakiri, her grandfather, took a sigh of relief. "Tell me, what happened? Where were you for the past few days?"

"I... can't explain everything right now." Erina looked down in guilt. "For now, I need ingredients to cook for... him."

"The madman?"

"Yes - him. T-they can move from world to world at will. They've only temporarily released me here for this purpose."

"..."

"Please, grandfather. There's no use denying them. They'll only cause more destruction if I don't follow their instructions."

"..." He took a deep breath, clenching his fists. "What are 'they'? Gods?"

"I do not know. But..."

Grace suddenly appeared in a ray of golden light, standing between the two.

"Well, isn't this a lovely reunion? It sounds like you are quite unsatisfied with the way matters stand." Grace looked at the director, smiling sweetly. "Shall I offer a preposition?"

~

Dennis looked around, noticing that Grace and Erina were nowhere to be found.

"Maybe I was too quick..."

He went into the 'stables', which was practically a world on its own. He joined Robert, Lyanna and the three goobers lying unconcious on the ground - recovering still.

"Your mission was a success, I see." Robert remarked. "I'd expect nothing less from my mighty overlord."

"You may as well get on your knees a second time." Lyanna remarked. "Hmph, you're so tough around everyone else but when it comes to him, you become nothing more than a good pet."

"Silence, whore." Robert scoffed, shaking his head. "I was created with complete loyalty to my liege overlord."

"Created?" Lyanna questioned.

"You two should just have sex already." Dennis remarked.

"Is that a command, my lord?" Robert questioned. "If so, I will act with haste-"

"Don't you lay a hand on me-"

"No, it isn't. Just a joke." Dennis looked at Rhaegar who was sleeping soundly. "If he does love Lyanna, he'd do anything for her."

"... What do you plan to do, barbarian?"

"Don't insult my liege overlord with such slanderous words." Robert snapped. "I'll smash your head in."

Dennis looked with an unamused expression. "I could not care less what she calls me. What I do care about is getting my Divine Spring of Strength. I need a farm and Rhaegar, as a King, can help me build one."

"Oooooh, I see." Robert nodded excitedly. "Yes, my liege overlord is a bloody genius!"

"..." Dennis raised an eyebrow.

"Was that too much glazing, my liege? I'll try to tone it down a little."

"All you need is... a farm?" Lyanna blinked in bewilderment. "Even I could arrange that, only if-"

"I don't like ifs." Dennis cut her mid-sentence. "Sit quietly."

"No ifs, then. I only need you to-"

"What did I say?" Dennis' voice grew cold. "Let the men do the talking."

"Shut it, wolf woman." Robert sighed, shaking his head. "Is it so difficult?"

"... So be it."

Rhaegar would eventually wake, along with his two Kingsguard.

"Our sleeping beauty is awake." Robert mused.

Dennis whipped out his new whip, stretching it out and tugging it. Grace had spoken of its effectiveness before, but he had yet to see it for himself - in person.

"Right... let's get to business." Dennis looked at Rhaegar, who was still quite dizzy. "I want a big ass farm here. Plenty of cows, sheep, meat... enough meat so that I could eat all day, every day. Then we need some vegetables and fruits here and there. A nice little village for everyone to live and be happy in."

"Self-sufficient... that's the fancy word of the day."

"If I accomplish that, will you release us?" Rhaegar questioned, his violet eyes regaining their light. "Back to the Seven Kingdoms?"

"You? No." Dennis shook his head. "I like your singing."

"... But-"

"But - I'll let Lyanna and the others fuck off. I don't care about them anyways." Dennis shrugged, tugging on his whip. "Now, if you don't get this farm built in a month..."

His lips curled into a grin.

"I'll ravage your wife a hundred times, right in front of you."

Rhaegar's mouth opened wide for a moment. Lyanna felt strange about that comment - she didn't find herself entirely against it.

Dennis wasn't finished.

"Then, I'll let Robert have seconds, and I'll slaughter your entire family back home. Better yet - I'll butcher your entire kingdom."

"Do you understand?"

Rhaegar gulped - he knew Dennis wasn't joking at all. He'd do all of that and more.

"If I succeed, will no harm come to anyone in my Realm - including my family?" Rhaegar questioned.

"Sure, I don't care." Dennis shrugged. "I just want my farm."

"Very well... I agree to your terms."

"Pleasure doing business."

They shook on it, and Rhaegar moved with haste thereafter.

Chapter 66: Madness And Greatness

“And which deed of mine was it that inspired you?”

“Several, I suppose. Even before I came to King’s Landing, I had heard of your exploits. Witnessing them in person, however, is an entirely different matter. I have begun to understand why my father is so fixated on you.”

“When I first hired him, I assumed he was only by my side because of the gold.” I replied, sitting down on a bench to the side. “Which, in part, was true… but a man like him could find gold anywhere.”

“Your gold dragons were just pocket change for him to spend on his terrible habits.”

“Every man has his vices.” I remarked, shrugging. “I am aware that Dorian has had his fair share of pain and suffering in all his years. Never knowing his father, sold into slavery by his own mother, having to carve a path to freedom through the fighting pits, living the life of a mercenary…”

“Dorian always spoke fondly of the fighting pits.” Rhaerra mused, tilting her head slightly. “But not of slavery. It's quite strange that the very thing he despised gave him the most pleasure. Never had he ever felt so alive as he did fighting men to the death over and over, he would say…”

“I've felt the same sometimes, in battle.” I admitted. “It is only when you smell the air of death that all of your needless worries wash away and all you think of is how you're going to live another second. You're living in the moment - in every sense of the word. It's strangely… serene.”

“A battle - serene?” Rhaerra questioned. “You are madder than I first thought, Your Grace.”

“I’ve come to terms with my loss of normality quite a while ago.”

“That doesn't seem to concern you in the slightest.” Rhaerra remarked.

“It does not.”

“Oh? Elaborate, if you wish.”

May as well.

“I hold the belief that all Kings can be seen as mad in one sense or the other. Their power allows them to express themselves to the fullest, in extremes that ordinary men would not dream of, whether it be with goodwill or otherwise. If a King wanted a thousand men to die, a thousand men would, more than likely, die. If an ordinary man had the same desire - he's not reaching half a dozen in most cases.”

“An interesting way to see things. You would consider the likes of, say, King Jaehaerys, the First of His Name, mad?” Rhaerra questioned.

“In a good way, yes. Madness doesn't necessarily have to be of the ill kind. Jaehaerys trained rigorously until he was just an edge less formidable than his own Kingsguard; he performed royal progresses across practically every inch of land in the Seven Kingdoms and relentlessly worked on forging a stable, peaceful, prosperous Realm. Even when he would be in times of distress, he would shrug his sorrows and plunge himself into his work.”

“Tell me, is that not a man who is madly driven by the pursuit to be the finest King possible? Is he not mad with diligence, an extreme kind of diligence that so very few could hope to possess?”

“So you hold the belief that madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin?”

“In essence.” I shrugged. “A great man could do terrible things, as a mad man could accomplish great deeds. They are not mutually exclusive. If anything, madness and greatness compliment each other in a strange way. Of course, that's only my view.”

Why do I think this way? The likes of Kobe Bryant and Michael Jordan were definitely on the crazy side yet achieved greatness few could even compare with. Sure, they were just basketball players, but that kind of madness applies to any human endeavor.

“Amusingly enough…” Rhaerra turned to her main, incomplete paintings. “That is also the theme of these two paintings. The moon, darkness, of the Storm that can sink kingdoms in terror and the other half, the radiant sun and light rain which inspires thousands and shines down a light of prosperity and peace.

“As a person, you are capable of truly terrible things… Yet the opposite is just as true. You can flip from one extreme to the other, whenever you see fit. I find it rather fascinating.”

“I don't think I've done anything particularly saintly.” I remarked.

“You took the mantle of King.”

“... Since when was that something saintly?”

“It depends on the person.” Rhaerra turned back to me. “You valued your personal freedom so greatly that you ran from King’s Landing after the person you loved. Only after her unfortunate passing did you turn back. You are not the kind to seek power, yet it found you. Most of your actions are not from a personal desire but rather duty, a sense of responsibility that compels you.”

“Is sacrificing yourself for the sake of the masses not a saintly action?”

“And how did you come to such a conclusion about me?” I raised an eyebrow.

“If you could choose anyone in the world, if you were not bound by such things… would it still be Arya who you would marry?”

“...”

As much as I wanted to say yes, the answer was likely no.

In an absolutely ideal world where the past didn't matter…

I loosened my left hand.

“You do have a choice. You can be absolutely selfish but you know how that would reflect on the North. Oh… how brilliant. That would be wonderful, indeed” Rhaerra suddenly stroked her chin. “I’ve thought of my next idea for a painting.”

“...?” I raised an eyebrow. “Glad to have helped, I suppose. Anyway, you're quite nosy - getting all into my personal business.”

“These are, in part, my father's thoughts. He has been around long enough to know all about Edric Storm.”

“In truth, I’m not near as selfless as you believe.”

“And yet your selfishness has a way of being selfless.” Rhaerra pondered. “Like how you set up this duelling tournament, for instance. It was your desire to see certain matches, yet you also did so in benefit of those who are loyal to you.”

“I don't know what you are talking about.” I waved my hand jestfully. “I'd never rig a tournament.”

“You can't convince me like that.” She laughed, shaking her head. “Nevertheless, Dorian considers you to be an anomaly of sorts. Unpredictable as a clouded sky.”

“I don't know if that's a compliment or not.”

“You may take it as one.” 

“Hm…”

I stood up from the bench and took a closer look at what she was cooking. I could tell she was back to being wholly focused on painting, despite the mask.

“Do you keep the mask on when you sleep?” I japed, breaking the sudden silence.

“Wouldn't you like to find out?” She glanced back with a playful tone. “You could come to my bed and see.”

“An awful suggestion for a betrothed young man.” 

“Fortunately for you, I am unlike the vultures of this court who seek every piece of you.”

“You do want my old armour, however.”

“A souvenir to take home.” Rhaerra replied, shrugging. I couldn't tell if she smiled or not thanks to the mask. “A far cry from trapping you with a child when you are far too drunk to think straight.”

“Oddly specific.” I remarked.

“That was your first time, wasn't it?”

“Categorically… but I don't really count it. I hardly recall anything from that night.”

“I suppose a boy’s maidenhood is quite inconsequential. You could do it as many times as you like, with whoever.”

“That's a slight overstatement. I'm going to be a father.”

“Now that is a choice that you made. Surely you've heard of moon tea before?”

“I would not kill my own blood.”

“Hence the trap.” Rhaerra shrugged. “I see you as the kind of person who would legitimise their bastard children as well. If I am right - the Tyrells have made the game look too easy. Especially if it were as you've personally set the precedent of a legitimised bastard being King.”

“You are not wrong. Ideally, not only would I accept my bastard children, but I'd also want them to bear the same arms as me.”

“Ideally?”

“I'll have to wait until I have some trueborn heirs.”

“You are one strange King.”

“I was never born to be one.” 

I remarked, looking at the painting. 

“Well, it's quite late. I won't take your focus away from your work further. Enjoy yourself.”

“Our talk has been insightful, Your Grace. I thank you for your time.”

“I'm glad I was able to inspire you.”

I gave a smile and walked away.

Strangely enough, despite her precise pokes at my character, I found talking to her… nice. It kind of reminded me of when I'd sit down with Alysanne and yap for hours about my latest historical fascination.

It wasn't love, of course… but being friends seemed more than likely. I find her to be quite interesting.

Before going sleep, I played around a little with my magic until I felt tired. Blackwater Bay had some lightning strikes here and there, some rain, a surge of wind - nothing too crazy. I also flew around in Freedom's body and tried to see if I could reach Dragonstone.

My connection cut short, unfortunately.

Instead of returning to my body, however, I was thrown into an abyss of dreams - my dreams. Just like before, Raiden Shogun had invaded them, and I began to think that it wasn't just some coincidence. Consciously, I pointed the finger at Mr Targaryen.

The first was five-year-old me running around and pretending to be a policeman at school. I thought the British metropolitan hats looked cool when I was little. The long one that kinda looked like the sort of helmet pikemen in the late middle ages would wear

Though, I eventually grew out of it and stole the usual dream boys my age in England would share; being a professional footballer. It was more of a peer-pressure thing, though. Then, my dad decided that I was too soft and threw me into a boxing club.

I was scared shitless of being punched and even more scared of punching someone. For a time, I did 'hate' my dad for dragging me in there, but I ended up liking it. I was terrible at boxing... but it was fun.

Later on, I'd sink countless hours into the likes of video games, books and anime. Honestly - I had the bad habit of picking up hobbies whenever. I could find joy in almost anything... except some shit like cricket. That was never for me.

But the most prominent of them all came before even that. I was eight or so, and some chinese lady was going around the local Mcdonalds asking if people wanted DVD's. My parents were rolling their eyes at the sight but I was a curious young boy, so when she came around, I had a look at her wares.

One of them captivated me; the NBA 2009-2010 Finals.

"That's the man from the poster." Raiden Shogun remarked.

"Yeah... sure is."

I asked my parents oh so very cutely for it, and they relented.

When I got home, I played it immediately and felt nothing short of awe. I went game by game until the entire series came to a close, and Kobe Bryant claimed his fifth championship. I was lowkey supporting the Lakers already because I thought green was a lame colour and I wanted the best player on the court to win.

When the entire team came together and celebrated like they just cured world hunger, little me was jumping with them as if I had been there.

Safe to say, I picked up a basketball and went to do my best Kobe Bryant impression. Years would go by, and it was the same thing. I kept shooting and having fun seeing what I could hit. I didn't get much better, but I kept shooting. Shooters gotta shoot... except I was more of a professional bricklayer. Or, maybe, a sadistic torturer with how I had the rim and backboard crying out with my shots.

To add to my sheer audacity and shamelessness, I played a song called 'Let it Fly' by Dribble2Much.

"Pull up like I'm in the drive-through." Old me sang along with the song as I let it fly, though it was more of a mutter. I didn't want anyone to hear me (even if the cage was empty). "Pull up again like I gotta bad order. I might just shoot this from half court..."

I mean...

Brick.

Brick.

Brick.

I wasn't hitting shit, but I felt like a basketball demon...

"I grind every summer, so it's going in now..."

From deep...

Swish. Right through the net.

Oh, I made that one?

All three of us were surprised, including Raiden.

"Don't let me get one..."

The ball bounced back to me, and I fired again from long-range after performing a sidestep.

Swish.

Two in a row.

It bounced right back again, and you know what I was doing. This time, I stepped back before letting it fly again.

Another swish - three in a row. You know, young blood, if I wasn't 5'8, I could've made the league. Definitely... I would've been the next Stephen Curry.

Now, I was really feeling myself and dribbled back a few feet. This was 1000% a heatcheck because of the sudden overwhelming sense of confidence I had in myself to shoot it from 40 feet.

That confidence dissipated as swiftly as it emerged once I hit nothing but air... and not in a good way.

Looking back on it, I smiled.

Old me was living his best life.

"Is this where your joy in archery came from?" Raiden Shogun questioned.

"Aye, pretty much... it's the closest thing to it, after all. You have to measure distance, angles and strength depending on the target and how far it is. Though, nothing quite compares to the sound of a swish."

"I see."

After that dream faded, I was thrown back into the abyss, and a red door appeared before me. I raised an eyebrow. These dreams were always so trippy...

I've never been high, but I'd imagine it's something like this. Random shit happening without much explanation.

The door practically stared at me as if I had no choice but to open it.

Fine...

I sighed, pushing it open.

The next thing I saw was a truly brilliant sight. I stood on the balcony of an absolutely huge pyramid that had to be nearing a thousand feet in height from top to bottom. The city below was a breathtaking, foreign, land that hypnotised me into wanting to see more. My adventurous side wanted to slide off the Pyramid and get to exploring from bottom to top.

I gathered myself.

This is Meereen - it has to be.

It's rather strange, though... why would I be here?

I turned back and my question was immediately answered when a pair of beautiful yet guarded violet eyes met my own.

I knew exactly who she was, even if I had never met her in person.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 65: Humiliation

Gaegor surged forward, despite his wounded leg, and swung a flurry of attacks. Oberyn kept his distance, quite like a viper, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. With each wave of missed attacks, Gaegor seemed to slow down.

Whoosh, whoosh…

Now.

Oberyn got around him and smacked his bad leg, leading to Gaegor falling over on one knee.

He then pierced the back of his right elbow, another gap in the warrior’s armour.

“GRAAAH!”

Gaegor roared like a wild animal, swinging back just like one.

Oberyn withdrew in time.

It was then that Gaegor got back on his feet, facing the red viper. 

Oberyn’s eyes widened as his opponent did something absolutely insane.

Whoosh, whoosh.

He tossed one axe after the other, hurling them at Oberyn with deadly force.

They swung in the air like boomerangs – only these ones would chop your head off.

Naturally, Oberyn stopped their momentum by putting his spear forward and clashing against them.

However, this gave Gaegor time to sprint at him.

As Oberyn tried to evade, the pain in his earlier wound surged and he was forced to put up his spear in defence.

With the red viper’s weak stance, Gaegor kept sprinting, deflecting Oberyn’s spear with his plate armour and stretching out his right arm - aiming to perform a lariat on him.

Bang.

The force of Gaegor’s outstretched arm sent Oberyn right to the ground.

Gaegor turned back to him, feeling strangely… sleepy. His eyelids grew heavy, but he pulled himself together and stepped forward to stomp on Oberyn's ribcage.

Oberyn rolled away to safety towards his spear, returning to his feet while simultaneously regaining his weapon.

Gaegor stepped back, his sight a blur. All his body sought now was rest.

Oberyn stepped forward and aimed his spear for Gaegor's head.

In response, Gaegor tilted his head and slipped past Oberyn's guard, uppercutting him clean in the chin.

Oberyn staggered back, dropping his spear.

He retreated from the slower Gaegor, who grabbed his fallen spear and tossed it to the Red Viper.

Oberyn dodged to the side, watching it fall to the ground further away.

He went over to grab it, while Gaegor regained his twin axes and stomped towards him with fury.

They proceeded to dance once more, but Oberyn was simply faster and gave Gaegor more wounds, which began to pile up.

"You... snake."

Gaegor muttered as he found himself losing the strength to fight any longer.

Oberyn proceeded to hit his helmet full-force with the side of his spear.

CLANG.

Drop.

Gaegor fell, seemingly because of his wounds.

Oberyn observed his own, the slash of Gaegor's axe that had left quite the mark. His opponent was beyond a formidable warrior, perhaps the strongest he had fought in his lifetime. He had hoped to avoid getting hurt entirely... but that didn't come to fruition.

While Gaegor may have lost the duel, he had almost ensured that Oberyn would lose the tournament to come.

His next opponent would be the Hound, after all, who would be in better shape tomorrow.

Oberyn looked to the side, where he saw an upheaval erupt.

"Get out of my way!"

Valaegor rushed to the tournament grounds, breaking through everything that stood in his way. He reached his brother in mere seconds and knelt at his side with a look of concern. His expression changed as he continued to examine his state. It looked like he had simply fallen unconcious, rather than died.

"You need something?" Oberyn questioned.

"Give me your spear."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow.

Valaegor's expression turned into a frown as he grabbed the shaft of Oberyn's spear and kicked him right in the chest - pushing the prince away. After that, he took a closer observation at the spear tip.

"Tsk." Valaegor violently threw down the spear to Oberyn.

"What, you thought I'd used poison?" Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. "I know Edric would not let that slip lightly, even if we are on good terms. If you need a maester to take care of his wounds, you may have mine."

"I don't need your inept maesters..."

"Fair enough." Oberyn shrugged, turning away.

"I'll see you in the final round - if you can even make it there."

"I look forward to it." Oberyn replied.

And so, Oberyn claimed victory in the sixth duel of the third round.

Meanwhile...

Arianne couldn't keep herself from laughing as Margaery remained silent and composed. All the other ladies were merely observers, not wanting to pick sides between them - at least not in public.

"Ah..." After what was nearly a minute of endless laughter, Arianne composed herself and looked at Margaery with a devious grin. "I won't spare you the courtesy of seeing this tournament end, either. You should be out of King's Landing and on the roseroad by tomorrow - with haste."

"We did not formally agree on that," Margaery smirked, shaking her head. "I will honour our bet once the tournament ends and I have made suitable preparations for my leave. Until then, you should practice some patience."

"... Hmph." Arianne crossed her arms. "Lingering around for a couple more days, I see. Little difference it will make."

"Precisely. I don't see why you're so agitated."

Further up ahead, Edric observed the stage.

‘Oberyn pulled through and got Gaegor up and out of the way.' Edric smiled, stroking his chin. 'I thought he'd be an even greater issue than Valaegor, but I might be wrong...'

"Truly, Gaegor does not know when to stop when his blood is drawn. When he starts fighting with bloodlust, he only stops once all of his enemies are dead... or he falls unconscious."

Rhaerra remarked, sighing.

"Sounds like a fine warrior to have around." Edric mused sarcastically. 'Does everyone in her service have at least one screw loose? Maybe that's the entry requirement to be one of her blue cloaks.'

Edric kept his eyes on the grounds in thought.

The second-last fight of the third round would feature Marcher Lord Randyll Tarly and Brienne of Tarth. Against any other member of the Kingsguard, Randyll Tarly would have looked at his opponent with respect. But Brienne... he couldn't stand the thought of a woman wielding a sword, let alone being one of the seven Kingsguard of the Realm.

He took Heartsbane with the intent of showing all the witnesses that she was not worthy of her white cloak.

As for Brienne, the whispers of the court were not lost to her. She knew she had something to prove.

Both were in full plate, greatsword against morningstar. Randyll had the reach advantage with Heartsbane and he knew it, though the lord didn't think it was fitting to cower from a woman.

They began dueling in earnest, with Brienne tactfully deflecting Heartsbane and fighting defensively. During the duel, she recalled the words of the master-at-arms of Evenfall Hall, Ser Goodwin - who had taught her how to fight.

"Men will always underestimate you, and their pride will make them want to vanquish you quickly; let it be said that a woman tried them sorely. Let them spend their strength in furious attacks, whilst you conserve your own. Wait and watch, girl, wait and watch."

This advice couldn't be more fitting for a proud lord like Randyll Tarly. Indeed, as Brienne remained standing without even a scratch from Heartsbane, Randyll grew frustrated and more reckless. He surged forward, swinging wildly, but Brienne sidestepped him and parried Heartsbane - smashing her morningstar against the back of his elbow.

Randyll almost lost grip on Heartsbane from the pain, but he remained stubborn and aimed for Brienne's head.

She tilted her head and evaded the wounded Randyll's swing, his Valyrian Steel blade loudly cutting through nothing but air.

With a swift flick of her wrist, Brienne struck the side of his chest - his left kidney.

It was a blow that almost sent Randyll to his knees and took the breath out of his body.

"Concede, Lord Randyll. I wouldn't wish to wound you further."

Though Brienne was being entirely sincere, Lord Randyll took it for mockery and struggled to his feet.

He would continue fighting, albeit unable to land a single blow due to his lack of energy. Brienne would try to convicne him to give up but it was all for naught. She had to beat him down, blow by blow.

In the end, she had no choice but to go for the head.

She deflected one of his slow attacks and headbutted the marcher lord, staggering him back.

Then she swung swiftly, smashing her morningstar against his head.

Drop.

Randyll Tarly would drop to the ground - unable to rise. Upon further inspection, Brienne realised that she had knocked him unconscious with that blow.

She let out a sigh.

It was not the result she desired, but Randyll Tarly had fought like losing against her was worse than death.

'Man got slumped... bedtime came early for ol' Lord Randyll.' Edric thought, briefly covering his mouth as he kept in his laughter. It's not that he bore much distaste for Randyll, but the way in which he fell... his body found it amusing. 'Maybe he shouldn't have doubted my choice of Kingsguard so loudly.'

The final duel of the third round would be between Valaegor and Ser Lyn Corbray, who had been itching to face the upstart foreigner.

Valaegor observed the knight, focusing on his Valyrian Steel sword.

"Lady Forlorn, is it?" Valaegor raised an eyebrow. "Wasted on an unworthy suitor, it seems."

"Unworthy?" Lyn Corbray questioned. "You do not know me, valyrian. There is no one more fitting to wield her than myself."

"Didn't you lose her in the seven-a-side melee - to Ser Arthur?" Valaegor chuckled, shaking his head. "How does a swordsman lose his sword?"

"How did you lose your poleaxe? Did you conveniently forget you lost to the same knight I did?"

"I was under a fucking horse." Valaegor frowned, only for a moment. His expression lightened into a smile. "You were on the ground in a fair dance, one which you lost. If only I had a Valyrian Steel sword... alas, I shouldn't waste my breath on a mediocre knight such as yourself. I'll beat you swiftly and be on my way."

"You are in for a rude awakening today."

"Am I? The bitterness of my brother's defeat has not left me yet... and you will be the one to suffer for it."

Both had a strong sense of pride in their ability...

However, one was simply better than the other.

Valaegor toyed with Ser Lyn Corbray like a child, tossing him around the tourney grounds and hitting him over a dozen times with lighter blows. Ser Lyn Corbray could not even get Lady Forlorn near enough to scratch his armour.

Eventually, Valaegor had smashed his arm and Lady Forlorn clattered to the ground.

Valaegor proceeded to kick the knight futher down before inspecting Lady Forlorn.

"Such a storied blade with such a mediocre wielder." Valaegor mused, putting down his poleaxe and spinning Lady Forlorn in his hand as if it were his own. "It calls to me, like a wife whose husband never quite satisfied her. Such a shame..."

Ser Lyn Corbray rose, weaponless, yet his heart engulfed in flames. He looked to Valaegor's poleaxe - going straight for it.

"Go on." Valaegor turned his back to Ser Lyn as if he was not a threat in the slightest. "Try to take her back, Ser Lyn Corbray."

"You will rue your words... I swear it."

Lyn Corbray raised Valaegor's poleaxe, only to realise just how heavy it was. His wounds had weakened him, too, but Valaegor made it look like he was swinging a normal-sized axe.

He tried swinging at Valaegor, only for him to casually block the large axehead and push back Ser Lyn with his strength.

"A harmless raven like you couldn't make me rue a single thing."

He continued playing with Ser Lyn Corbray, taunting him and avoiding getting hit at all. After over twenty minutes, the knight was exhausted while Valaegor laughed at his efforts.

"You are persistent, at the very least. Mayhaps you ought to change your personal sigil to that of a cockroach."

Eventually, he disarmed Corbray again by headbutting him. Then he kicked the knight down a third time and went so far as to remove his helmet and step on his face with his slightly spiked sabatons, slashing his cheek. He proceeded to rub in his foot while Lyn couldn't find the energy to resist the humiliation.

"Why haven't you conceded yet?" Valaegor raised an eyebrow as he laughed. "This isn't going to get any better for you."

"Damn... you." Lyn Corbray raised his hands and grabbed his foot, trying to raise it off his head.

Valaegor's foot remained firm as he pushed it down further.

He then lowered Lady Forlorn to his neck.

"Do I have to kill you to win?"

"King Edric of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, declares this duel concluded!"

Valaegor looked back in surprise as the tournament organiser shouted out loud.

"Valaegor Raelae-reonor is the victor and will advance to the fourth round!"

"Your King took pity on you." Valaegor laughed, throwing Lady Forlorn to the ground far away. "Go and pick her up off the ground when you eventually rise from the ground, Ser Lyn. I had my fun using her."

Lyn Corbray stared at the sky for a good few minutes, not allowing anyone to help him up. Eventually, he summoned the last of his strength and rose from the ground to pick up Lady Forlorn and leave the tournament grounds in bitter fury - grinding his teeth.

"That foolish Val..." Raerra sighed, shaking her head. "Needlessly making enemies."

"He might lose yet." Edric smiled as he watched how the events unfolded and developed. "The way in which he beat Ser Lyn Corbray decreased his chances of winning it all."

"How would that be the case?" Arya questioned, raising an eyebrow. "It looked like he was playing with him. If anything, that makes him more of a favourite - no?"

"A knight like Ser Lyn Corbray is proud and values his honour above all else. Even if he did lose, he will stop at no end to ensure that Valaegor does not win the next rounds."

"How could he affect the later rounds?"

"We'll have to see."

'Arthur might have to put up another Kirito impression...'

...

With the third round complete, only eight competitors remained;

To the upper left side of the bracket, Ser Arthur Tudbury and Daman.

To the bottom left side, The Hound and Oberyn Martell.

To the upper right side of the bracket, Valaegor and Ser Garlan Tyrell.

To the lower right side of the bracket, Brienne of Tarth and Ser Loras Tyrell.

The winners of the fourth round would then face off the other victor from their side and then the victor of that round would face the champion of the other side in the final.

...

Since there were only eight duels, Edric hosted a few more events to entertain the crowd - including a mini-battle between his recruits from Storm's End. Afterwards, he'd go out in the evening on a run to get some reps in.

Arya joined him alongside some of the Kingsguard and men in his service, running all the way into the Kingswood.

"Do you need a horse?" Edric glanced back as Arya struggled to keep up with him. "Or a pony, for that matter?"

"One stride of yours is like three of mine..." Arya remarked, breathlessly.

"I'm not the one who said I'd keep up," Edric replied, shrugging his shoulders. "Life's hardly ever fair."

...

[Edric's POV]

When night came, I strolled through the gardens to see what Rhaerra was doing with her rented space. The answer was a messy workplace that was also strangely organized. She was working on two large paintings, with half a dozen works placed to the side.

I wasn't exactly someone with a keen eye for art, but they looked high quality.

The two main incomplete paintings were seemingly complete opposites. One depicts the radiant sun over a grassy field of flowers with a knight on one knee, and the other shows a clouded moon shining over a stormy world filled with fire, rain lightning, and bloodied corpses. One depicts the beauty and tranquility of life, while the other reflects its sorrows.

Together, they show the turbulence between both.

Currently, she seemed absolutely focused on the one on the right, the darker painting.

"What was the inspiration for those two works of art?"

"You."

(Sidenote : Gaegor got COOKED 4-1 in votes hooly. The people have spoken and he got smacked.)

Raiden's Storm Chapter 64: A Daring Bet

Sixty-four warriors would be chosen from the team melees to participate in duels. Everyone who fought in the previous finals was part of the pool except for those who were too injured or lacked the ability to win on their own, along with most of those who represented the Vale and Reach. The matchups were (definitely) not rigged by Edric.

~

[Sansa’s POV]

With Arya sitting next to the King, Sansa had to be further back with the other ladies of the court. It was not something she minded; Margaery and Arrianne were good company. Of course, she'd be lying if she said she wouldn't have preferred to be closer... but it would've been improper.

Meanwhile, Arianne and Margaery had become more enemies than friends. They were never particularly close, but since the incident in Storm's End, it looked like Arianne would do terrible things to her - given the chance.

Sansa wasn't too focused on their conflict, however. She was more interested in the duels. The knights in shining plate armour, adorned with their proud sigils, the mighty warriors from foreign lands and the tourney grounds that would see one man crowned champion from amongst one-hundred and twenty-eight of them.

It was the first event of its kind in recent memory, similar to the joust yet rather than relying solely on the lance, a fighter could use any weapon they wished so long as they were on foot.

No doubt it was Edric's idea, Sansa thought. He always valued duelling more than the joust.

Before long, a loud bell resounded across the field as the first two combatants faced off against each other. Valaegor came first, Rhaerra's most dashing blue cloak. The overwhelming air of arrogance that he carried made Loras look modest. Yet, Sansa remembered how quick he was to concede when Edric stormed their ranks during the melee.

His first opponent would be Robar Royce, John Royce's younger son...

It was not a close duel, hardly. Valaegor had sent him to the ground in the blink of an eye with two consecutive swings of his poleaxe.

The duels continued, with knights from all across the Realm seeing how they fared against one another in single combat. Ser Arthur Tudbury made short work of Andar Royce, his famed Nightfall a blur of black that neither the knight nor most spectators could see. Not soon after, Lyn Corbray's Lady Forlorn sang a tale of victory, defeating a knight from the Westerlands.

Each time a white cloak fluttered in the wind, victory would be assured. The newly sworn lady Brienne would overpower Ser Guyard Morrigen while Ser Loras fought with a determination that Sansa Stark hadn't seen before from him. He did not gesture to the crowd a quarter as much as he usually would, instead focusing on the duels ahead of him. His first, Ser Parmen Crane, did not even last a minute.

Ser Arys and Ser Balon also took the bitter taste of defeat against the blue cloaks the day prior against their opponents. As for Ser Mandon, he did not attend due to his wounds.

Much was the same for the blue cloaks, who did not know a single defeat in the first round of duels.

It looked like the duels would also be their battleground.

On the next day.

The second round was more eventful, given that most of them were the Realm’s finest thirty-two. In the most noteworthy clashes; Ser Arthur would defeat the Marcher Lord Bryce Caron, Ser Arys performed to standard and defeated the upstart sellsword Bronn, Ser Balon outskilled Ser Daemon Sand, and Oberyn would best Blackfish with his long-reaching spear. 

There were moments of boasting and taunting, especially by Valaegor, who treated the tournament like a formality as he crushed yet another competitor. When he removed his helm and let his long silver hair sway while he smiled and scanned the stands with his deep purple eyes, she could hear a wave of screams that made her feel embarrassed to sit near such a group.

He was very clearly a polarising figure; you either hated him or you loved him. More precisely, the ladies adored him, while the men of the Realm did not take kindly to the foreigner. Sansa found herself more on the latter.

The second round of duels would take less time by virtue of the number of competitors being halved, but Edric chose to rest the competitors for the next day rather than forcing a third round.

On the third day.

The Serjeant of the Kingsguard did not look fazed by Lord Yohn Royce, who donned his ancient bronze armour, which was inscribed by runes thousands of years old. It was said that the runes would ward its owner from harm - yet was the case the same against Valyrian Steel? Sansa doubted it.

As for Ser Arthur, he wore the standard white Kingsguard plate armour, and his sole accessory was an emerald-gold-bronze jewel that kept his cape draped across his back. It was a jewel that perfectly illustrated the sigil of House Tudbury, a brown tortoise within a yellow lozenge on green.

Unlike his other sworn brother, Ser Loras, who was only a bit older - Ser Arthur displayed a confident, honourable and mature aura that matched his older brothers. He performed hardly any theatrics to the crowd, yet the people cheered for him regardless, louder than ever before.

He would defeat Lord Yohn Royce in an honourable, knightly exchange of swords where the Vale Lord's bronze armour had been victim to Nightfall more times than Sansa could count. Afterwards, Lord Royce would congratulate the new Serjeant of the Kingsguard and share some words.

In the second duel, Daman outlasts Arys Oakheart in an arduous duel that would take nearly fifteen minutes to end. Daman seemed mostly unwounded and full of stamina. It looked like he could go for another duel.

Ser Garlan Tyrell bests Ballio in an intense exchange that forces the knight to fight at his very best.

Ser Loras Tyrell defeats Balon Swan in a competitive duel that had both Kingsguard fighting at their very best. Loras looked especially determined, carrying on his previous sentiment and couldn't be denied today. 

The fifth clash of the third round would be the most brutal until that point. The Hound had been fighting with a certain aggressiveness and brutality the previous two rounds - even more so than usual. His third fight would be no different. 

He didn't waver in the sight of Big Baegel and took lead of the fight, outpacing his opponent and striking with devastating force. His warhammer would undoubtedly bring unwanted memories of Edric as old wounds opened. In the end, the Hound would win convincingly and defeat the man who robbed him of victory at the throwing contest.

The sixth clash would feature Dorne’s Red Viper, Oberyn Martell and Gaegor Raelaereonor; the twin-axed barbarian who had earned his fame from the seven-a-side melee. Many considered him to be amongst the top three favorites to win it all, yet he had yet to face a spear wielder half as deadly as the Red Viper - so Sansa had heard.

"My uncle will put that Valyrian slave on his back." Arianne Martell remarked, smiling with confidence. "He'll do what Edric's dog could not."

Margaery Tyrell smiled sweetly. "Would you wish to bet on it?"

"And what would the rose of Highgarden bet?"

"A swift return home, mayhaps." Margaery kept her smile, yet even Sansa could tell that it was writhe with poison. "Princesses who travel too far from their castles for too long tend to catch an awful illness. I'm sure you've grown to miss Sunspear after all these moons away in King's Landing."

"I would say the same to you," Arianne replied, her eyes enflamed with temper. "You must miss your rosy, beautiful, seat in Highgarden. It's nothing quite like King's Landing, though I suppose you don't mind it so much seeing as you have a King's comfort."

Sansa could tell that the ladies who sat between the two were just as uncomfortable as they were intrigued by all the gossip this would create.

"Whatever do you mean?" Margaery looked at her innocently. "His Grace is courteous to all."

"I would not consider him fucking you a courtesy, especially as you are not his betrothed"

"Neither are you, from what I know." Margaery raised an eyebrow. "Are we part of the same Realm, Arianne?"

"You love to act innocent, but you are nothing more than an ambitious whore with a name."

They may as well be duelling each other with swords, Sansa thought as she keenly listened in on the drama. She was, after all, a lady herself.

"The irony of the Princess of Dorne saying that is not lost on me." Margaery chuckled, shaking her head. "How many swords have you sheathed, pray tell? You are most kind to have serviced so many fine men."

"Hmph." Arianne frowned, looking as if she wanted to lay her hands on Margaery. "As if you came to Edric a maid-"

"How slanderous." Margaery pretended to look shocked. "You can't win based on truth, so you resort to lies, princess? I came to Edric a maid, if you have to know. Truth is, I think when it comes to my actions. You simply act on whatever whim suits you."

"Comparing yourself to me doesn't make what you did any better. You couldn't seduce His Grace when he was sober, so you had to resort to striking when he was too drunk to say no. I would never go half as low as you, Lady Margaery."

"Spare me your lies. If the opportunity presented itself, you would have pounced on it without a second thought." Margaery countered, shaking her head. "Who am I to object to His Grace's love and passion? Is he not the Chosen Son of the Seven? It would be a sincere waste, mayhaps even sin, to turn him away."

"I'd wager you did not waste a drop of his 'divine' seed." Arianne kept her frown.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare."

"That will be the last that you will see it," Arianne remarked, her frown turning into a smile. "If I win this bet, you won't be near Edric for a year."

"It would only be fair if it was the same to you."

"Then we have a bet." Arianne grinned with a look of joy. "I hope you come to enjoy your year-long vacation."

"I would not speak so hastily."

Gaegor took to the field first in his knightly armour of full plate, his blue cloak fluttering behind him while he spun both axes in a gesture to the crowd. As for Oberyn Martell, he chose to wear light leather which would keep him light on his feet.

After a short exchange of words, they began to dance. Oberyn struck first with his longer spear, though the spearhead bounced off Gaegor's plate. He countered with one swing, and another, both of which Oberyn completely avoided.

"You don't look so confident now," Arianne remarked.

Margaery's expression remained unchanged.

Oberyn's reach was greater, yet Gaegor kept him far away from any gaps in his armour. For once, the warrior had been forced on the defensive in single combat.

They were even, for what felt like a century.

Until... Oberyn drew first blood, dancing around Gaegor and striking a gap in his lower foot.

"GRAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"

Gaegor let out a wild roar that resounded across the tourney grounds while Oberyn retreated to a safe distance with his freshly blooded spear.

"I'LL SLAUGHTER YOU!"

As if he had suddenly been possessed by his loss of blood, Gaegor began to wildly chase Oberyn. The Red Viper would halt his charge with a point of his spear but Gaegor dashed to the side and cut through his spear shaft as if it had been made of water.

Whoosh. Whoosh.

He began to swing wildly, one axe after the other. Oberyn was eventually overwhelmed and suffered a lethal cut to the side of his armour.

He managed to slip away by ducking and rolling in a show of his acrobatic ability.

Afterwards, he was thrown a spear which he caught without much trouble.

With the fate of Arianne and Margaery hanging on the balance of this duel between two of the Known World's most skilled and gifted...

Sansa stopped her breath in anticipation as to who would claim victory.

Would the Red Viper of Dorne triumph over the foreign twin-axed demon?

(Find out in the next chapter of Raiden's Storm Z!)

Author's note:

My bad for being slow on the update, I was addicted to AC: Odyssey and figuring out how I wanted to do the tourney bracket took way longer than I imagined it would.

Xiao Kuangyun Reborn Chapter 2: Unstoppable Force Meets Immovable Object

In the following two months, Xiao Kuangyun worked relentlessly on his new wife. His true talent was being a hedonist, which the Heaven Ravaging Demonic Art complimented in spades. Even though she was plain, he enjoyed shattering her pride and turning Xiao Mei into a puppet for his growth. 

In that time, he drained her of all her talent and rose to the fifth level of the Spirit Profound Realm.

Meanwhile, she fell to the level of a cripple.

Now, any normal wife would be hateful but Xiao Mei couldn't be more glad at her master’s ascension.

“Master Xiao is so talented.” She clasped her hands joyfully. “Soon the entire Xiao Sect will tremble at your every step.”

“Clean up the mess.”

Xiao Kuangyun turned away, disinterested. She had nothing left to offer him. Except…

“Do you have any talented sisters?”

“I have two elder sisters. They're both in the Earth Profound Realm.”

Xiao Kuangyun chuckled as he rubbed his hands deviously.

“Be a good wife and arrange a meeting in a few days with one of them. Preferably both.”

“I'll do my best, Master Xiao.”

He went into the medicine hall and used his status to gather some decent-quality herbs with certain qualities. He knew precisely what he had been looking for.

‘This brings me back to when I made my first aphrodisiac.’ Xiao Kuangyun grinned as he made the concoction back at his palace. ‘It was shabby but good enough - much like this one, I suppose.’

With preparations made, Xiao Kuangyun used his spare time to flick through the Xiao Sect’s manuals.

‘Mediocre arts, mediocre women, mediocre experts…’ He mused, shaking his head. ‘Truly an average sect.’

‘Its sole value is being my first home.’

…

Xiao Mei poured wine for her husband and older sister.

“Mei-Mei has been a wonderful wife to me, and I wanted to share my joy with her family.” Xiao Kuangyun smiled charismatically, waving at the wine. “Enjoy yourself in my palace, sister-in-law. This is the finest wine the Xiao Sect has to offer. I'm sure you have a taste for it.”

He choose to drink first, showing that it's ‘safe’. 

Seeing this, she accepted his gift.

“I thank you for your hospitality, young master Xiao.”

She proceeded to drink, falling right into his trap. He grinned lustfully. The aphrodisiac somewhat affected him too, albeit to a lesser extent. It would make it easier to ravage his slightly better-looking sister-in-law, at least.

“I suddenly feel hot…”

As the affects took hold, Xiao Kuangyun touched her hand and looked into her eyes. At that moment, he looked remarkably more handsome and charming to his sister in law.

“You're even more beautiful than your sister.” He spoke a half-truth. She was more beautiful, but still plain-looking. 

Seeing her struggle, he made it easier by grabbing her face and placing a passionate kiss on her lips. He continued to do so, while slipping his hand beneath her robe tactfully. 

“This… this isn't right.”

She broke free from him with her greater strength, standing up.

“Why fight it?” Xiao Kuangyun questioned with a grin. “You already belong to me.”

He grabbed her legs and she relented, falling right back down.

He proceeded to crawl over her like a snake, touching all the right places.

The rest… was history.

~

Both of Xiao Mei's sisters would be frequent visitors to Xiao Kuangyun’s palace, declaring their unbound love for him. The elder, wanting the best for his daughters, turned a blind eye. Meanwhile, Xiao Kaungyun’s profound strength steadily rose to the fifth level of the Earth Profound Realm over three months of draining both sisters. He left them at the beginning stages of the Spirit Profound Realm, serving as his lackeys.

Eventually, however, his father grew suspicious of his activities and summoned him.

“What have you been doing, Yun’er?” He took on a concerned expression. “I've heard that Xiao Mei has become nothing short of a cripple, and her sisters lost a considerable amount of profound strength, becoming weaker than most of our seasoned disciples.”

“Excessive dual-cultivation.” Xiao Kuangyun admitted, shrugging his shoulders. “They just can't help it…”

Xiao Juetian raised an eyebrow. “You said you would clean up your act, Yun’er…”

“I am innocent in all of this, father. Believe me.” Xiao Kuangyun shook his head and sighed. “Those senior sisters went so far as to force themselves on me. Alas, I handled myself well and turned the situation in my favour.”

“So, their profound strength…”

“Went to good hands.” Xiao Kuangyun nodded, spreading his arms wide as he stopped hiding his strength. “I am in the Earth Profound Realm myself, thanks to their efforts.”

Xiao Juetian’s eyebrow turned into a frown and then into a look of pride.

“What art did you use for such drastic growth?”

“A secret art I discovered in my travels. It requires a heart that longs only for pleasure in this world; perfect for me.”

“Hahahaha…” Xiao Juetian let out a laugh. “I never thought that my fourth son would turn out to be a genius. Even so, the head elder of the Spear division will not take kindly to this.”

“You are the sect master, father. It doesn't matter what a lowly elder thinks. He should be honoured that I even entertained his daughters.”

“Even so…” He stroked his beard. “You know how appearances matter. It would not look good on me if I allowed my son to cripple the sect’s more prized members without any sort of punishment-”

“In that case, send me away from the Xiao Sect.” Xiao Kuangyun grinned, for he had intended to do so regardless. “For a year or so. By that time, my talents will have truly blossomed and that worthless elder will have no choice but to accept his fate.”

Xiao Juetian agreed to his proposal, wondering just how far Xiao Kuangyun could go.

~

Xiao Kuangyun would depart the Xiao Sect with his three slaves and Xiao Moshan, who remained his butler. Xiao Juetian, however, had informed him to keep a longer leash and allow Xiao Kuangyun to do more of what he wished. Along the way to completing the first third of his vengeance, Xiao Kuangyun would trample on a few more pretty flowers - enhancing his appearance a little.

When the Floating Cloud City came into view, he grinned from ear to ear.

‘Well, well, well… you wouldn’t mind if I enjoyed the hospitality of your home, would you, Yun Che?’

The notice of his arrival was short, leading to the elders and clan master gathering up in hurried fashion. There were other prominent members of the Floating Cloud City as well. It had been over eight months since he last visited to complete an elder’s wish. But now… what reason would he have to return? They were worried it was something vengeful.

“Esteemed Young Master Xiao, we welcome you back to the Floating Cloud City-”

“Spare me all the formalities. We are all friends here, are we not?” Xiao Kuangyun’s strangely charismatic smile stunned the men. He seemed as if he were a completely different person.

“Uh… of course, of course.” Xiao Yunhai nodded several times. “What brings you to our city? Not that you are not welcome - but a great man like you certainly has plenty of duties to fulfil-”

“My heart has been in great turmoil since I walked away from this city.” Xiao Kuangyun looked like he had been pained, touching his heart. “I am ashamed of the things I had done, truly.”

Was this the same Xiao Kuangyun? Xiao Yunhai looked at everyone else in confusion. They were all just as bewildered.

“Esteemed Young Master, what do you speak of?”

“It is true that Xiao Lingxi had stolen a precious treasure that had been gifted to you by myself.” Xiao Kuangyun took a deep breath, shaking his head. “However, this matter has plagued my mind ever since I took the time to reflect on it. I don’t believe it would be right to subject a talented young lady such as Xiao Lingxi to fifteen years of confinement, robbing her of her youth for a matter that was of no consequence to me.”

“And so, it is my sincerest wish to see the Xiao Clan reverse the decision and act as if it never happened.”

Even Xiao Moshan looked shocked.

“Esteemed Young Master…” Xiao Yunhai didn't know what to say. It felt like a fever dream.

“Do you deny my wish?” Xiao Kuangyun raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not. I will have them freed at once!”

“Good! I shall see them in your hall.”

“Who is this Xiao Lingxi?” Slave 2 questioned. 

“No idea but Young Master seems a little too interested in her.” Slave 3 frowned slightly.

…

In the Reflection Gorge.

Xiao Cheng, the fourth elder who was in charge of law enforcement, walked in on the formation cell binding Xiao Lie and Xiao Lingxi to one of the caves.

Xiao Lie was surprised to see him.

“Why did you come here now?”

“Xiao Kuangyun has returned with a change of heart. He wishes that you two would be freed.”

“What?” Xiao Lie’s eyes widened in shock. “This must be one of your bad jokes, fourth elder.”

“No, it is the truth.” Xiao Cheng took out the key to the formation, shaking his head. “He asks that you both come and greet him as soon as possible.”

Xiao Lie was highly suspicious while Xiao Lingxi felt her heart beat with anger. After all of this, he just comes back and has a change of heart? 

~

Xiao Kuangyun made himself comfortable in Yun Che’s former living room, placing his feet on the dinner table as he sat. He was tapping the table impatiently while his three slaves tried to massage him.

Then, he sensed two auras approaching.

He did not move, watching Xiao Lie enter alongside Xiao Lingxi.

“You kept our Young Master waiting.” Xiao Mei remarked, frowning. “Don't you have any sense of manners?”

“Shhh, Mei-Mei, don't be so venomous.” Xiao Kuangyun casually waved his hand. “I am sure that they are tired from their confinement.”

“What the hell do you want?!”

Xiao Lingxi stepped forward with an expression of fury but Xiao Lie raised his hand and stopped her from going further.

“Please forgive my daughter’s insolence.” Xiao Lie bowed solemnly. “We are both thankful for your great mercy and kindness.”

“You should learn a bit about courtesy from your wiser father, little girl.” Xiao Kuangyun smiled, shrugging his shoulders. “Nonetheless, I am glad to see you both out of confinement.”

Xiao Kuangyun put his legs down and rose to his feet, placing his hands behind his back. 

“Is there anything else, Young Master?” Xiao Lie questioned with a guarded expression.

“Hm, yes - there is.”

Xiao Kuangyun grinned as he came face to face with the elder. 

Before Xiao Lie could react, he grabbed his neck and punched a hole in his chest. Profound energy exploded from within, destroying more than half of his veins.

“GAHHH!”

“FATHER!!!”

Xiao Kuangyun withdrew, observing his bloodied hand as it absorbed some of Xiao Lie’s fading profound strength.

“How messy.”

Xiao Lie fell to his knees, bleeding profusely. He let out two mouthfuls of blood as Xiao Kuangyun looked down on him like an ant.

“If you willingly handed over your foolish daughter, you would not be on your knees.” 

“DAMN YOU…” Xiao Lie suddenly roared, his rage coming out all at once. “I will not stand for this!-”

“You are already on your knees.” 

Xiao Kuangyun chuckled, kicking his face down onto the ground. 

“I'll kill you!” Xiao Lingxi lost her rationality, attacking him with a wave of profound energy.

Xiao Kuangyun waved it away before slapping her to the ground lightly.

“Know your place. Hold that bitch still while I handle her insolent father.”

Xiao Lie had fallen to the middle levels of the Spirit Profound Realm, all of his efforts dissipating before his own very eyes. He summoned the strength to use a profound skill from his hands and it struck Xiao Kuangyun.

He looked at it, completely unaffected by the blast. All it did was dirty his clothes.

“You never had the power to defeat me, least of all now.” 

Xiao Kuangyun stepped on his hand with one foot and his head with the other, stomping it continuously.

After he was done, he turned him over and twisted both of his arms.

The man was practically on his deathbed.

“No… don't kill him. Don't!” Xiao Lie screamed out, trying to break free from Kuangyun’s slaves. “I'll do anything!”

“Anything?” Xiao Kuangyun turned to her with a curious look. “You should be careful with that word, sweetheart. It's an invitation to terrible, awful, things.”

“That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you always wanted you… you… twisted, evil, dirty, pervert!”

“Those words are like music to my ears.” Xiao Kuangyun stepped closer, grabbing her chin and looking straight into her defiant eyes. “It's like calling a saintly man kind.”

She kept staring at him. “You won't get away with this. The Xiao Clan will know-”

“And what?” Xiao Kuangyun smirked, placing a finger on her lips. “Lest you forget, the only thing that saved you from me was that fairy from the Frozen Cloud Immortal Palace. She's not here anymore. No one will save you.”

“Yun Che will… he'll kill you when he finds out.”

“Xiao Che, Yun Che…” Xiao Kuangyun chuckled, pointing his finger up and down. “How awfully naughty for you to harbour such feelings for the man you believed to be your nephew. You speak of my degeneracy, yet you, yourself, are no saint…”

“It’s… not like that.” Xiao Lingxi shook her head. “I…”

“Shhh.” Xiao Kuangyun placed a finger on her lip. “I will help you with exercising your demons today. By the time we are done, you will forget all about him.”

He lowered his finger all the way down, cleanly cutting through her robe with precision. 

“If I remember right, your breasts were not this large before.” Xiao Kuangyun observed, grinning as he caressed one of them. “How firm, yet soft. Indeed - I had good taste.”

“Stop…”

“Stop?” Xiao Kuangyun looked hurt. “I thought you said you’d do anything.”

“Please… you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I do.” Xiao Kuangyun observed her appearance. “Not only is your beauty valuable, and you avoided my clutches before, but you are also someone Yun Che is very fond of. My growth, pride and vengeance - three birds with one stone.”

He pulled her in and away from his slaves, right onto the table. 

RIPP.

He finished disrobing her, ripping everything in his way. All that remained were tattered clothes covering her legs. He then grabbed hold of both of her arms and held them down behind her back.

“No-”

“Yes.”

Xiao Kuangyun grinned deviously as his member shot up with the prospect of ravaging Xiao Lingxi.

As it approached her sacred gardens, however…

It grew limp.

Xiao Kuangyun observed with bewilderment.

‘What on earth happened there?’

[Will be going back to Raiden's Storm now; I had my fun. Maybe this story will continue if it gets votes idk.]

Xiao Kuangyun Reborn Chapter 1: Same Animal, Different Beast

“Dad… Save… Save me… Save me… I don’t want to die… Dad… Save me… Save me!!”

Xiao Kuangyun tightly hung onto his father’s thigh, his entire body trembling. All four of his limbs had gone limb under intense fear. He had lost control of himself along with all of his pride, making a pool of his own piss beneath. 

 “Little brother Yun, the error of my unfilial son, indeed cannot be forgiven. This humble Xiao is extremely shameful of my incapabilities in teaching my son. However, with your current status and level, no matter how many tens of times stronger my unfilial son is, it’s impossible for him to possess even the least bit of threat to you, nor would it be possible for him to dare offend you again. If you act against my unfilial son, I’m afraid… I’m simply afraid that it might stain your status as well… If you can show mercy today, and let go of my unfilial son, my Xiao Sect will definitely deeply grateful, and will rever little brother Yun as our lord. As long as it’s little brother Yun’s instruction, my Xiao Sect will definitely use all the might within our capacity, and will definitely not hesitate to sacrifice our lives!”

“Mn… What Sect Master Xiao says seems to have a good point. If I were to kill this son of yours, not only will it stain my own hands, I will indeed gain nothing. And if I don’t kill him…” Yun Che held onto his chin, showing a thinking look.

He had remained still, blanking out as his father tried to ease Yun Che’s fury. In the end, the Xiao Sect had to cough up an astronomical sum of ten million profound coins for his life. After taking the money for sparing his life, Yun Che pushed out his palm and struck Xiao Kuangyun.

He was sent flying into the sky, spitting out his own blood midair and landing in an unconscious state. 

“Yun’er!”

His father, Xiao Juetian, charged over to his son, who had been covered entirely in blood with a great number of broken bones. Meanwhile, Yun Che hopped onto his Snow Phoenix and spoke with a tone of arrogance.

“Don’t worry, he won’t die. He simply has to spend his days on the bed in the next few months. Also, from this point onwards, he shouldn’t think of ever procreating! A dog trash like him, is unworthy of having descendants! Your Xiao Sect best not allow him to step out of the doors of Xiao Sect forever. If I were to see his face again, then you people can simply take out more money to redeem his life!!”

…

Xiao Kuangyun woke from his unconscious state, all broken. He hung onto the hope that the doctors of the Xiao Sect and beyond could repair his broken bones, but there was only so much that they could do.

After months of endless pain, he still sat in a wheelchair. He was broken in both heart and spirit.

His cock, the weapon he once wielded to indulge in endless pleasure, was no more. Yun Che had seen to that. His wives, concubines and maids - what did they amount to now? Nothing. Everyone mocked him, and even though his own father couldn’t abandon him, he could sense his discomfort as well. 

All the light in the world had faded for Xiao Kuangyun.

He rolled his wheelchair over, where his sword stood on the table. He drew it out and saw its blade glimmer. All the humility, pain, suffering… it would end right here. He would suffer it no more.

The blade trembled in his inexperienced hand.

He had not killed anything before with his own hand. The fear of death still clung to him. Even so, his hatred for the life he lived gave him the resolve to push forward.

Pierce.

He stabbed his own chest, holding onto the blade before drawing it out.

The young master watched his blood pour out like a waterfall… doing nothing to stop his premature end.

For once in all these months, he smiled.

It was the end of his suffering.

He would be free at last.

~

Profound Year 1997, 15th December

The fourth young master of the Xiao Sect had returned with Xiao Chengzhi, the second most talented of the Xiao Clan’s generation. The Xiao Sect’s new servant was given the lowest of accommodations and least pleasant duties - a position befitting of his standing. The youth’s excitement about the grand Xiao Sect considerably dimmed when he realised that his life of old in the Xiao Clan was more comforting.

In his view, he had returned absolutely empty-handed. Neither Xia Qingyue nor Xiao Lingxi fell into his palm. 

Better yet, two of his servants died in the search of Yun Che - which he had chosen to give up on.

The first thing he did was fall into the comfort of his his most beautiful woman, who he imagined as Xia Qingyue. He tore at her clothes, pinning her down with a lustful gaze. She was a brick of mud in terms of appearance when compared to Xia Qingyue, but his lightless room made it easier to imagine otherwise.

“Harder, my love… ravage me-”

“Ah, yes… you dim-witted whore. You’re only good for one thing in this world.”

Xiao Kuangyun continued on with confidence, his lust washing away the dissatisfaction he once felt.

He kept going… until his body eventually relented, and he let his seed spill into her womb.

It was then that his expression suddenly changed.

He stood as if frozen in time.

His concubine eventually turned to see him, sitting up.

“Did something happen? Did I do something wrong, young master? I…”

As his eyes regained light, his lips slowly curled into a devious grin.

“Hahaha…”

His sudden laughter caught the concubine off-guard.

“Hahahahahahaha!”

He continued, sounding madder with each passing moment.

“Kuangyun-”

The concubine said his name in hesitation.

He stopped, glaring at her like an unwanted insect.

Slap.

The young master struck the woman, sending her right back to the bed. Xiao Kuangyun looked down on the woman, observing her features. He did not hide his disgust in the slightest.

“To think that I’d once find such a plain thing desirable.”

He turned away coldly and began dressing himself.

“What do you mean?” The woman blinked in confusion. “I am the most beautiful woman you possess; those were your own words merely months ago-”

“The words of a frog that had been stuck in a well its entire life.” 

Xiao Kuangyun’s words were as cold as ice. It seemed as if he had become an entirely different person to the concubine. Even a few seconds ago, he was enjoying himself… so what could have possibly happened?

After dressing himself completely, he simply walked out.

“Butler.”

“Yes, young master?” Xiao Moshan addressed him with respect.

“Throw this woman out of the Xiao Sect; I never wish to see her again.”

“... Is this what you truly wish, Young Master? This woman… she is your concubine-”

“Not anymore.” Xiao Kuangyun shook his head. “I have no desire for her.”

As he walked off into the corridor, he dusted himself off the shame he felt.

‘Imagining such an inferior woman as Xia Qingyue rather than attaining her? How pathetic.’

He proceeded to do things that Xiao Kuangyun would’ve ordinarily done - only far more calculated. Within the space of a week, he thoroughly fucked every one of his wives and concubines, which numbered twenty-one in total. He used a dual-cultivation technique that had been developed and constantly refined over two thousand years of ravaging.

Beauties that could ruin nations, genius empresses who ruled them and mighty goddesses that could trample the world…

The Heaven Ravaging Demonic Art would teach humility and obedience to all of them, turning thousands of such brilliant women into nothing more than meek and submissive slaves that served his every need.

It was a dual-cultivation technique that stole not only the profound strength of his yin counterparts but also their beauty, talent and heart. 

After a week of ploughing fields, he was disinterested in, Xiao Kuangyun’s appearance improved considerably. Compared to the most average of people, he now looked more handsome and not entirely plain. His features were sharper, and the way he carried himself… his aura… that was the greatest change of all.

As for his cultivation and overall talent, they nudged in the right direction, yet he remained at the peak of the Nascent Profound Realm.

‘Aged twenty and stuck in such a lowly realm. At this rate, not much will change.’ Xiao Kuangyun thought to himself. ‘Hmph, if only those plain women I called concubines and wives had any sort of talent to take. Alas…’

‘I shall have to look outwards.’

Xiao Kuangyun decided, leaving to look around the Xiao Sect for a new playmate. Given that he was the most spoiled of the four young masters, he could get away with many things. One thing he couldn’t do, however, was despoil any girl or woman closely related to the mighty elders of the Xiao Sect. It was not a matter his father would’ve let go of, so the Xiao Kuangyun of old would avoid it entirely.

To those more noble disciples, he looked like a poor copy of his older brothers, who were far more desirable. Plain-looking, average, talentless and with a perverted personality… 

While they dreamed of his genius, super handsome three older brothers, these ladies avoided Xiao Kuangyun like the plague.

This is why Xiao Kuangyun would often go to lesser cities and towns where he could abuse his power and get his way with women who could not resist his power. Whether they were willing or not, he would have them…

…

Xiao Kuangyun walked over to the Xiao Sect’s most prestigious arena, where genius disciples would often challenge each other to duels. Today, it was the fifth young master, Xiao Kuanglin, facing off against Xiao Mei, who was the daughter of an esteemed elder. They were both in the early-middle stages of the Spirit Profound Realm and seemingly equal in strength.

Xiao Mei even managed to slash the side of his face with her spear.

Afterwards, Xiao Kuanglin’s expression changed as he slashed once and two more followed.

“Triple wind slash!”

BANG.

With two of the slashes landing cleanly, Xiao Mei was eventually overwhelmed.

“That was a fine duel, junior sister.” Xiao Kuanglin praised.

“I’m still nowhere near your martial prowess, young master.” She smiled joyfully and bowed her head slightly. “I look forward to our next spar.”

Xiao Kuanglin, his fifth and youngest brother. The one who would attend the next Blue Wind Ranking Tournament… the same one that Yun Che won. 

Xiao Kuangyun temporarily lamented his older age before moving to speak with the girl. She was rather average in appearance, to the point that his women were all superior. However, her greatest asset was the talent she possessed, which was amongst the best in the Xiao Sect’s younger generation and something that his wives and concubines would only dream of possessing.

It was this talent that made her almost untouchable. Almost.

“Greetings, junior sister. You looked as impressive as ever today.” 

Xiao Mei wanted to ignore him but reluctantly turned to greet the young master. She observed his improved appearance and proud stature. His eyes were clear and focused - seemingly brimming with purpose.

“Greetings, young master.” She blinked with a confused look. “I did not expect to see you here today.”

“I sought to broaden my horizons.” Xiao Kuangyun smiled, his eyes reflecting a certain charm. “The way junior sister wields her spear - truly a work of art. Each swing and stab reflects the endless hours you have spent honing those skills.”

“... Please spare me the flattery, young master. I have places to be-”

“Do you?” 

He grabbed her hand as she tried to evade him, turning her to face him. He then grabbed her chin and planted a swift kiss on her lips. It dazed her temporarily, which allowed him to continue and go so far as to slip his profound-art infused tongue inside her mouth.

“Mn…” 

BANG.

The moment Xiao Mei recovered, she punched him right in the gut.

“Gah…”

Xiao Kuangyun crumbled almost immediately, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the ground. 

“Hmph!” Xiao Mei turned away from him. “You might be the fourth young master, but that doesn’t mean you can do anything you like. I’ll tell my father precisely what happened and make sure you get what’s coming.”

The disciples around them looked bewildered.

“Did the fourth young master just…”

“I thought he preferred women of beauty. I mean, Xiao Mei is a genius in terms of talent, but her appearance really is average….”

“Yeah, I don’t wager that kiss was very worthwhile.”

“Who knows what goes on in the young master’s perverted mind?”

“Heh…” Xiao Kuangyun chuckled, rising to his feet. After he wiped his mouth, all that remained was a devious grin. ‘All of your talent will be mine in due time.’

“Big brother, that was truly unsightly.” Xiao Kuanglin remarked, stepping behind him. “You shamed our bloodline today.”

Xiao Kuangyun looked back with an unamused expression but said no more.

“You have nothing to say?” Xiao Kuanglin frowned. “I ought to punish you myself.”

“I may have been too passionate and forgot myself.” Xiao Kuangley sighed, shaking his head. “Xiao Mei… well, I… might have fallen in love. Truly. At that moment in time, I wanted only her. She was my night sky and morning sun.”

Observing his strangely convincing act, Xiao Kuanglin shook his head and walked off.

“... You’re embarrassing.”

…

Once Xiao Mei informed her father of the matter and returned to her cultivation room, she felt a strong wave of emotions begin to flood her mind and heart. She kept thinking of that one passionate kiss, over and over again. It was her first and only…

To think that it was the worst of the five young masters, the least handsome and talented… the wastrel she looked down on. If any other one of his brothers had done it, she would have accepted it gladly, but… not him… most certainly not him.

And yet… she couldn’t forget him. He was all she could think of - that kiss, more precisely. That single kiss had grasped her heart and mind, locking both in a cage.

This matter was far too embarrassing to admit to anyone else, so she kept it to herself. 

The poison only continued to spread, however… growing stronger and stronger.

~

“YUN’ER!”

Xiao Juetian shouted at Xiao Kuangyun, who remained completely composed.

“What did I tell you about acting in that way with prominent disciples of the Xiao Sect!?”

“Forgive me, father.” Xiao Kuangyun sincerely lowered his head. “It’s only that I fell in love with junior sister and couldn’t help myself.”

“You fall in love with a new woman every month.” Xiao Juetian rubbed his own forehead with a disapproving look. “This matter is inexcusable, I must punish you…”

“I am serious this time.” Xiao Kuangyun shook his head. “If you wish, father, I will abandon all of my wives and concubines to prove this. I will even go so far as to clean up my act and dedicate myself to the Profound Way. If only…”

“If only?” 

Xiao Juetian raised an eyebrow of curiosity. His fourth son was the least impressive, certainly, but he was the one he doted on the most since he was the only one to be birthed by his official wife. If he cleaned up his act…

“You would give me your blessing and arrange a marriage with Xiao Mei.”

“Why this sudden obsession?” Xiao Juetian stroked his beard as he questioned. “Xiao Mei is talented, yes, but her appearance… it would not be wrong to say that all of your women are more beautiful.”

“There is more to this life than beauty, father. My wives and concubines are no more than plain dolls to play with - and I truly tire of them. They are far too simple. I seek a more sophisticated woman; someone truly worthy of my status. If I could have Xiao Mei, I would not want anyone else.”

“You little devil.” Xiao Juetian remarked, sighing. “If you dare to take another wife or concubine after this, you will not walk from it lightly.”

“So you agree to my proposition?”

“I shall see what Xiao Dong and his daughter think of this.”

“Very well.”

Xiao Kuangyun went on to do as he promised, cleaning house. All of his concubines and wives got thrown out of the Xiao Sect. His palace had begun to look a lot more empty, with only a couple of servants attending to it. He found the sense of peace far more inciting than the chatter of plain-looking women.

Meanwhile…

“What do you think of marrying that insolent young master?” Xiao Dong questioned his daughter, shaking his head. “Xiao Kuanglin would be a far more fitting proposal for you-”

“I… would not mind it.”

Xiao Mei’s words shocked the elder, whose eyes widened. He observed her look of embarrassment with bewilderment. She was talking down on him only a couple of days ago, calling him a piece of trash… but now she would not mind it? 

“You must not make such a decision in haste.” Xiao Dong grabbed her shoulders and looked her in the eyes with a serious expression. “I will give you time to think on it.”

In the end, however, the more time passed… the more she was certain.

~

In only a month, Xiao Kuangyun was sitting in his bedroom with Xiao Mei packaged beautifully in her crimson-gold phoenix wedding dress. He had a taste of the Xiao Sect’s finest wine, grinning as he observed the blushing bride.

“You truly look stunning today, my dear wife.”

“Shut up.” She blushed, glancing away. “Just… stop teasing me.”

“Oh, teasing?” Xiao Kuangyun blinked with a tone of innocence. “What do you mean by that?”

“Stop playing around and just…”

“Just what?” Xiao Kuangyun’s eyes lit up.

“K-kiss me… again.”

“Come over here, then.” Xiao Kuangyun pointed to her and angled his finger all the way down to his feet. “Crawl to me, and I will indulge you.”

“I won’t.” She crossed her arms, speaking with a tone of pride. “I am your wife, not one of your toys…”

“I don’t see why you can’t be both, my sweet wife.” Xiao Kuangyun rested his head on his hand as he grinned. “Why the proud front? You know what you want. Indulge your desires; there’s no need to pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“I…”

“I’ll give you all the love you seek if you just submit yourself to me. You will forget all about Xiao Kuanglin, my useless brat of a brother, and the other men who ignore you because of your lack of beauty.”

She reluctantly got on her knees, slowly crawling over to his seat. Each of his words were like spells nudging her body forward. Eventually, she did reach his feet. His lips curled into a grin as he cupped her chin upwards to look at him.

He patted her head like a dog he was most pleased with.

“Good girl… now here’s your reward.”

He lowered himself slightly and planted a kiss on her lips.

‘Soon, Xia Qingyue, Xiao Lingxi… you two will be in the same position, begging me to ravage you.’

…

After a night of fucking Xiao Mei over and over again - gradually draining her profound strength and talent, which bolstered his own - Xiao Kuangyun laid in his bed with a look of satisfaction.

He had broken through to the True Profound Realm at last.

‘And Yun Che, to think that I’d forgotten all about you in all these years…’

He grinned, looking to the ceiling as he imagined what the future would hold.

~

Author’s note:

I was watching the ATG anime and honestly, Xiao Kuangyun was hilarious for like the two episodes he was around… so I decided to write this zaza in my spare time. Also, I added a fifth brother because Mars Gravity somehow slid in the third brother into the Blue Wind Ranking Tournament (who should be older than Xiao Kuangyun who is already 20 at the start).

Raiden's Storm Chapter 63: Unravelling Legend

“A bloody woman.” Lyn Corbray spoke his thoughts out loud alongside some of Edric’s bannermen, having a drink. “I wield Lady Forlorn with all the skill that one could ask, yet she - hideous beast that she is - takes the last white cloak of the Kingsguard.”

“It is rather ridiculous, I would agree.” Randyll Tarly nodded, being a traditionalist in terms of gender roles as were a majority. “A woman in the Kingsguard… a sworn sister. Though I admire our King’s martial prowess, there are clearly matters in which he is inexperienced in. Having a woman as one of his closest shields…”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“It only endangers him-”

“My, oh my, disapproval is in the air.” 

Renly approached with an amused expression.

“Lord Hand.” Randyll Tarly spoke with a tone of respect. “Surely you see what most men do?”

“What I saw was Edric choosing one of his strongest and most loyal shields as a member of his Kingsguard.” Renly shrugged his shoulders. “Brienne is a woman of honour as well, a knightly figure without any ounce of pride or arrogance. She is too humble, one might even say.”

“If I stood where His Grace did, I would not have denied her for there aren't seven knights in the entire Realm I would trust more with His Grace’s life than I would Brienne.”

Renly’s words silenced them, though it did not change their thoughts. 

…

“It is unfair.” 

Loras strode from one side of the Hand’s - his lover’s - quarters to the other. Part of him felt ashamed of his performance; the other felt wronged. 

“Why would He choose the side of that foul beast over me? Why is it that Arthur, of all the Kingsguard, is the one to step over me?” 

“Is the answer not obvious?” Renly tilted his head slightly.

“Yes, of course.” Loras scoffed. “The King would choose his dear friends over those who are worthy.”

“It would not be wrong to say that Ser Arthur outperformed you on quite the stage.” Renly countered, shaking his head. “Even I would admit to as much. While you grew complacent, he kept taking steps forward.”

“If I had a Valyrian Steel blade, I would perform just as well - better, even. Far better.”

“A poor excuse, Loras. Ser Barristan never had any need for one. Many great knights did not.”

“...” Loras turned away, frowning. “It seems that even you side with Edric.”

“What is Ser Arthur to His Grace?” Renly suddenly mused. Of course, he knew, merely asking the question for Loras to find the answers himself.

“A capable knight,” Loras admitted, a talented swordsman - he even thought to himself, yet it was not something he would say out loud. “His faithful, trusted, sword and friend. He who hears the most of his secrets, thoughts and stands beside him the most.”

“Trust.” Renly emphasised, leaving his seat and stepping towards Loras. “Might you have done something recently that might have broken the trust he holds with you?”

“...” Loras’ frown dissipated into a sigh. “I…”

“Edric might be a boy in age, but his mind is far more mature.” Renly halted his excuse before it even formed. “He has experienced a great many things in so short a time. The dishonour and solitude of a bastard, the glory of being physically gifted, finding love and the tragedy of losing it, rising to princehood, leading battles and conquests, taking the steps to the Iron Throne… I could go on.”

“Being a bastard first and a King later has made him observant - knowledgeable of the true nature of most. He keeps his guard against those who merely seek to flatter him, making his trust and friendship something most chase after yet could never attain.”

“He will jest, smile and laugh yet that is no more than a courtesy. A flaunting of his charisma that enamoures so many. His smiles, as cheerful and moving as they may seem, perfectly conceal the sweet poison under them.”

“You seem to suggest that he bears ill-will against me,” Loras remarked, raising an eyebrow as he turned.

“Ill-will would be an overstatement. However, your act certainly lost what favour you did have.” Renly shrugged his shoulders. “In that regard, you should hope that Margaery finds a way to turn this situation in her favour. Other than that… all you can really do now is move forward.”

“Move forward…”

…

Meanwhile, in another chamber.

Arianne looked through the balcony with a displeased expression. She sipped on her wine while tapping the table with her nails. The skies had a few grey clouds, yet they did not hide the stars beyond. 

Ever since Edric spurned her, she found herself in a constant foul mood that just would not wash away. It lingered, deep in her heart. The exhilaration that she had been denied, worse yet - the dream that the Rose of Highgarden had taken from her.

How could she, princess of Dorne, heir to an entire kingdom feel so powerless?

All it took for most men was a couple of sweet, passionate, words and they would be eager to service her needs - alongside their own. The one time she did get rejected in the past was by, amusingly enough, Renly Baratheon who looked very much like Edric himself.

That… was for more obvious reasons, of course. Arianne had learned of his ways a while after that experience.

Edric was far more frustrating of a case than Renly, being; a King, taller, stronger, more of a dominant presence and someone who didn't prefer swords to plowing fields. Merely, he had chosen duty and honour over her.

“Hmmm…”

She closed her eyes for a moment, putting her more vivid imagination to use.

BANG.

The door was suddenly forced open as a towering figure strode in, his golden cape fluttering with each thunderous step. The giant’s armour was heavy, the stag antlers decorating his helmet stood proud and strong. 

He grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to stand, and leading the princess to her bed.

“You belong to me.”

His words were uncaring and cold as he forced her to turn to him, yet they only fuelled the flames in Arianne’s heart.

RIIIP.

He ripped and teared her gown with hardly any effort before his chilling, cold, gauntlet grasped one of her breasts and squeezed tightly. She could do nothing against his overwhelming strength, closing her eyes helplessly as she let him do whatever he wished…

Knock, knock.

The illusion suddenly shattered completely as Arianne heard two knocks on her door. She withdrew her fingers which had grown wet and sticky from touching herself, composing herself.

“Who is it?”

“Your favourite uncle.” Oberyn grinned as he answered.

Arianne decided to open the door.

 “You did not look well, princess. Is there something that displeases you?”

“What does it matter?” Arianne sighed, shaking her head. 

“I could send for a tall, strong, man with black hair and blue eyes if you wish.”

Oberyn knew full well of the target of her lusts and desires this time.

“Is it Edric Baratheon?”

“... Well, no - but it would be close enough.” Oberyn chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “Just close your eyes and imagine it is him.”

“I am not interested in some poor imitation.” Arianne crossed her arms. “It's either Edric in my bed or no one at all.”

“It seems that he not only inspires loyalty in men but princesses as well.” Oberyn laughed, turning away. “Well, if that's what you wish. I won't disturb your… rest further.”

Arianne closed the door shut and tried to imagine it all over again.

Meanwhile, Edric was sleeping like a baby in his bedchamber - wholly ignorant of Arianne’s degeneracy.

~

[Arthur Tudbury’s POV]

After having a good rest under his King’s orders, he found himself standing in the common room of the White Sword Tower. At its centre stood the White Book, two feet tall, a foot and a thousand pages thick. It was the book that contained the deeds and exploits of all the members of the Kingsguard since they were established by King Aegon I Targaryen.

Each Knight of the Kingsguard had one page each, some with far longer entries than others. It was the Lord Commander’s duty to keep the book up to date, meaning that it hadn’t seen any additions since Ser Barristan departed nearly seven moons ago.

He had read each page at least a dozen times since he first donned the white cloak, though his eyes had always focused on the knights who he most admired. Most were knights boys who read books admired, the likes of; Ser Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redwyne, Ser Gwayne Corbray, Ser Barristan the Bold and, of course, his own namesake Ser Arthur Dayne - the Sword of the Morning.

Ser Barristans long entry of accomplishments, above all others, never failed to enamour the knight…

It was nearly four hundred and fifty words long. Even his entry going from his 58th year was more decorated than some knight’s entire time as a Kingsguard;

“In his 58th year, safeguarded King Robert in the uprising of King's Landing, slaying the treacherous King's Justice Ser Ilyn Payne during the battle. Failed to protect King Robert in the Battle of the Fords, forced into a retreat by Ser Jaime the Kingslayer. Fought in dozens of skirmishes across the Iron Isles and was gifted the Valyrian Steel sword Red Rain by the Crown Prince Edric Baratheon. Fought amongst the Kingsguard who led the charge into the Great Keep and later the Great Hall of Pyke. In his 59th year, left King's Landing under the order of newly-crowned King Edric Baratheon on a quest to return Princess Daenerys Targaryen to her home.”

I hope he one day returns to us, Arthur thought with a look of admiration. The only fitting end for such a knight is at his King’s side.

He flipped over to his own entry, well over a dozen pages after. In comparison, his entry was quite decorated for his age, yet still not even half the length of Ser Barristan’s.

“Ser Arthur of House Tudbury. Secondborn son of Lord Colton Tudbury of Shellcastle. Served as his father’s squire. In his 15th year, participated in the Grand Tourney of Storm’s End in 297 AC and finished second in the melee. Earned renown in the tourney’s lists, unhorsed by Ser Jaime in the third round. In his 16th year, sailed to Dragonstone to deliver word of Queen Cersei’s treachery to Lord Stannis, who then blocked off the Lannister's escape. Fought in Battle of the Fords with courage, slaying near a dozen men. In his 16th year, fought in every battle alongside Crown Prince Edric Storm and the Kingsguard during the Surprise Invasion of the Iron Islands. Knighted by Crown Prince Edric ‘Storm’ Baratheon and granted the Valyrian Steel blade Nightfall before the Siege on Pyke. Was the first to cross into the Great Keep of Pyke, cutting a bloody path. Slew Andrik the Unsmiling in defence of Crown Prince Edric Baratheon, saving him from a mortal blow. Apprehended Lord Balon Greyjoy and left him to Crown Prince Edric Baratheon’s mercy. Early in his 17th year, the first to be named to the Kingsguard after the crowning of King Edric Baratheon, becoming the second youngest to do so after Ser Jaime the Kingslayer.”

Arthur heard approaching steps and turned to see the door open. 

It was Edric Baratheon, yawning his way in.

“I figured I’d find you here.”

“You have need of me, Your Grace?” Arthur questioned, turning his body away from the book.

“Categorically.” Edric grinned, stepping forward. “What page are you on?”

“Mine own,” Arthur answered honestly. “I was comparing it to the other knights of the Kingsguard, mostly those who came before.”

“Huh…” Edric went over and had a read. “Looks like it needs some updating. You’ve done a number of notable deeds since donning the white cloak.”

“Ser Barristan will have much to do when he returns.” 

Arthur’s lips curled into a jestful smile as he shrugged his shoulders. He knew well of Edric’s distaste for formalities in private, taking a more friendly tone that was fitting of his closest friend rather than dutiful Kingsguard.

“He won’t have to add anything to the White Book other than his own achievements when that time comes.

Edric’s words certainly struck a cord.

“You mean…”

“That’s because you, the acting Lord Commander, will update it for him. It’s one of your main duties as of now, and don’t you dare run from it, you lazy bum.”

Arthur chuckled as Edric scolded him in a sarcastic manner. It’s not that he was lazy, but rather uncertain of what his duties truly entailed. Edric’s words confirmed that the rank Serjeant and acting Lord Commander wasn’t an empty honour.

“The White Book will be kept in pristine shape, updated wherever possible.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Ser Arthur.” Edric patted his right shoulder. “Now, I need you to perform at your best today.”

“That goes without saying.” Arthur nodded, lowering his head slightly. “Your old armour is on the line.”

“Yeah, if you dare to lose to one of Rhaerra’s men, I’m taking Nightfall from you and giving it to someone else. Brienne, Ser Loras - mayhaps the Hound…” Edric stroked his chin in thought. “Or mayhaps I can just keep it for myself…”

“It is yours either way.” Arthur smiled, shaking his head. “You may have it whenever you wish and do with it what you will.”

“Man, you’re no fun sometimes.” Edric scoffed. 

“There is one more thing…” Arthur paused, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Before updating the White Book, I… might need to practice my writing.”

“Pfft.” Edric laughed at him. “Hahahaha… seriously?”

He found the matter ridiculous, poking fun at his embarrassment.

“That was to be a first in the history of the Realm, no?”

“I do not wish to dishonour the deeds of my fellow Kingsguard with mediocre penmanship. When I do put ink to paper, it shall be a worthy display for their accomplishments.” Arthur spoke with a tone of pride before glancing. “Besides, I’ve not written in a while, nor did I have any need to. I will need some time to sharpen my skills.”

“Of course, of course.” Edric nodded. “I understand.”

“... Though, you must not tell anyone else.”

Edric observed his embarrassed expression with a devious, almost plotting goblin-esque grin.

“Of course, I won’t. This secret will die with us when our time comes.”

“... Your devilish grin says otherwise.”

“Does it?” Edric’s grin faded as he blinked innocently. “I’d never betray my dearest friend, Ser Arthur, you know that. I’m only messing with you… well, unless you lose today. Then I might gossip with a couple of people, hahaha. You know how quickly gossip spreads here, don’t you?”

“It won’t happen.”

Edric’s expression changed as he observed Arthur’s sudden, insurmountable confidence. He had spoken as if his victory was certain, not from a tone of arrogance but rather peerless confidence. The aura he carried with him made Edric’s show a smile… a real smile and not one of courtesy. One of pride.

“Go on, then, Ser Arthur. Prove your worth.”

~

Author's note:

I was doing a bit of reading (I don't do much of it these days other than my own stuff and research, but I had plenty of time on a long ass 5-hour flight) and felt inspired, hence the more slice-of-life-esque tone where more characters and ideas are explored with greater detail rather than jumping to the next big thing. I find it's easier to get immersed into my writing this way, but it might be less climatic and interesting.

Of course, I am always open to feedback, but I feel that it enhances the quality of the work overall.

Barbarian's Path to Multiversal Domination Chapter 14: Spinning The Block

Dennis saw a familiar sight...

The Battle of the Trident.

He no longer took a mere levy's body, emerging as himself in the midst of it all. The white light that came with his appearance blinded half a dozen temporarily. Naturally, his size and strange gear caught the attention of those around him.

He looked in the distance, seeing the dance between the Last Dragon and Horned Demon.

His lips turned into a grin as he drew both of his swords and charged forward.

SLASH. SLASH. SLASH. SLASH.

Dennis carved a bloody path through the lines of both armies, dashing forward madly.

"Who in Seven Hells is he!?"

"He's killing everyone!"

"Get out of the way, I'm not getting slashed to pieces!"

Some men began pushing back in desperation as they saw what awaited them, making way for Dennis to keep going. This led him all the way to the Ruby Ford where Robert and Rhaegar exchanged another bout.

"ROBERT!!!"

With an explosive step forward, Dennis leapt into the air like a predator that had found its prey. However, he had overjumped and found himself missing the mark completely. That didn't deter him.

"What kind of leap was that..." Robert muttered. Something like that wasn't human, surely.

"Is he one of yours?" Rhaegar questioned, having never seen Dennis before.

Robert glanced at Rhaegar. One of his? Like hell, he was thinking this was one of Rhaegar's men!

"FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!"

Dennis began chasing after Robert's horse, outpacing it and slashing its backside numerous times until it began to look like blocks of meat. Naturally, the horse perished from a frightening amount of bloodloss and Robert fell to the ground.

Dennis kicked off the horse and looked down on Robert, throwing down his warhammer.

"Pick it up."

Robert grabbed hold of his Warhammer and rose to his feet while Dennis took a few steps away. He was shocked to see that the mysterious warrior sheathed both of his swords and presented his fists.

Meanwhile, Rhaegar Targaryen was trying to comprehend what the fuck was happening. His attention was taken away by a couple of rebel levies, however, which he began cutting through with his lavish sword.

"ARGH!"

Robert swung his Warhammer, but Dennis perfectly evaded it and countered with an uppercut to the chin.

BANG.

Robert's jaw practically went with Dennis' punch, alongside his helmet.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

He began throwing a combination of punches that would make even Mike Tyson blush, each one more thunderous and lethal than the last. His soul had already left his body by the second punch... but Dennis kept going.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

When he was done... not much of Robert remained.

He looked like a minced combination of armour and human flesh.

Dennis didn't look satisfied, taking a deep breath.

"I am too strong for you."

He turned and looked around, watching as soldiers on both sides distanced themselves from him.

[Task Two Complete!]

[Gym Acquired!]

[The Demon Of The Trident (MAXED loyalty) acquired!]

The white light took him from the field, leaving everyone befuddled.

...

"I don't think we properly introduced ourselves." Grace smiled as she turned to Erina Nakiri. "I am Grace Mertvago, Queen of this domain. Even though that's not really my surname since Dennis and I aren't officially married - when we do get married, it will be."

"What do you want?"

"Me? I want my pookie bear to be happy, that's all." Grace kept her smile, raising a hand and touching the side of Erina's face. "You, my dear, can make him very happy in ways I couldn't. Really, all you have to do is cook when he requires it. Other than that... honestly, you could just go home until he needs you."

Grace observed the slightly hopeful look Erina gained, nodding.

"That's right - you don't have to be stuck in this awful place all the time. So long as you complete your duties when called upon, I don't care. That is, if Dennis agrees..."

"... And if he doesn't?" Erina questioned.

"We'll figure something out to make you happy," Grace spoke with a reassuring tone.

"You know, Dennis might look like a bat-shit insane sadist, masochist, fight-sexual and a man with no remorse for anything whatsoever on the outside... but he's a nice, sweet, and warm grizzly bear on the inside." Grace chuckled, waving her golden hair. "I mean, he's still all those things, but there's that little side of him that appreciates the people who love him for who he is."

"Sadly, that number is practically nonexistent. His nature always frightened those around him, who aimed to suppress him into something he was never meant to be. Despite being so remarkable; he could never find anyone on the same wavelength as him... someone who could understand and share his passion for battle."

"The path Dennis was always meant to walk was one of solitude, surrounded by nothing but the corpses of his slain rivals. No friends, family, lovers... just himself and a world that hated him for all that he was. It's all rather depressing, don't you think?"

"..."

"You don't understand either." Grace chuckled, shaking her head.

"While no one else may understand his true nature, I do. We were made for each other; which is why he will never find himself standing alone." Grace smiled, clapping her hands together. "Anyway, that's all for my Ted Talk. I hope you learned something about your new master. He should be coming back any minute now..."

Right on cue, Dennis reappeared.

"Oh, you're back pretty quick." Grace looked surprised.

Dennis looked at Erina, observing her displeased expression.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Oh, I don't know... she totally didn't see you slaughter a good hundred people, watch you chase after her car like a cracked out gorilla and eventually get tossed outside of the world she grew up in right into this place." Grace raised an eyebrow. "Jeez, you really have no remorse in your heart nor any human thought in your head, for that matter."

"Wasn't this your idea?" Dennis blinked, scratching his hair.

"I have no idea what you're talking about; I'd never kidnap someone." Grace put on a clueless expression. "Besides, if I had to kidnap someone, I'd go a more romantic, mutual route. I would approach her with my overwhelming charm, gracefully taking her by the hand into a world of pleasure and love. I suppose it would be eloping, minus the marrying part-"

"... I'm good at fighting; I love fighting." Dennis tilted his head with a confused look. "She's good at cooking, so shouldn't she love it too? Who cares where she does it?"

"Love for cooking?" Grace chuckled. "Maybe once in the past and later in the future... but as she is now? Not at all."

Dennis looked at Erina.

"Why not? If I could cook like you, I'd do it all day."

"You totally wouldn't have the patience for it." Grace laughed. "Anyway, how would you feel about letting her go back home for a while before you're hungry again?"

"Why would we do that?" Dennis raised an eyebrow.

"The girl needs time to get adjusted to this place - and you. I believe that she would be more satisfied knowing that there's light at the end of the tunnel, leading to her cooking improving. Besides, she hasn't completed her education at that school."

"I didn't need to go to a fighting school to get good at it," Dennis remarked. "I just kept fighting."

"So you're not letting her go?"

Dennis shook his head.

"Rarely are you that clingy." Grace chuckled, even though her insides were burning. "Anyway, I bet you aren't all that satisfied with your battle."

"I want to get the easy shit out of the way."

"Alright, alright..."

~

In the first timeline Dennis had invaded.

It had been two years since the Failed Rebellion, with King Rhaegar Targaryen consolidating his power. In this world, Lyanna received a maester's care during her pregnancy and hadn't died. In turn, their marriage was recognised, which led to Rhaegar having two queens - creating a strange dynamic.

He began to sing one of his favourites in the Great Hall, stunning all with his majestic voice.

"By the river where the waters flow, A levy stood with eyes aglow, A humble man with a quiet life, No one knew of his inner strife."

"But beneath the sun and clouded skies, A darkness brewed, a deadly tune, In peasant’s garb, with fists of might, A demon hid in broad daylight."

"Demon dressed in peasant’s armour, Rising up from the farmer’s honour, With fists of iron and kicks of stone, A dozen men fell, the rebel stag bemoaned."

"The call to arms, a common cry-"

BANG.

Dennis kicked down the gate, walking in like he owned the place. His long black hair flowed wild and untamed, matching his grin. His armour of Brutus was covered in blood, along with Blackfyre which dripped with a fresh supply.

He cut down the nearest guards, leading to the rest rallying against him.

"SEIZE HIM!"

The Kingsguard surged forth, led by Ser Arthur Dayne. Dennis, however, didn't look amused.

"Guess I kept the line of silver cunts going," Dennis observed, looking at Rhaegar. "You remember me?"

"... Where have we met?" Truthfully, Rhaegar had no idea.

"I saved your ass against Robert Baratheon. Though, I guess you wouldn't remember since I look completely different." Dennis grinned madly. "So... I'll let my fighting do the talking."

He sheathed his sword and started boxing the entire court. His maddened, masochistic, yet sometimes strangely graceful style struck Rhaegar almost immediately. Only one man used his fists and feet in such a way...

Ser Arthur, in all his skill, got knocked out.

Ser Barristan got kicked into a wall.

Left, right, left, right...

Dennis was catching bodies every second.

"Cease!" Rhaegar had seen enough, raising his hand. "What is it that you seek from this place?"

"Dunno." Dennis scratched his hair. "I sorta just have to be here for a little while, I guess. You got any strong people I can fight?”

“... Not nearly as strong as you, I fear.”

“Get me some food then.”

Everyone watched in shock as Rhaegar bent to Dennis’ request and prepared a banquet. Though, most of them lacked the foresight to see what would have happened if he did otherwise. A King’s pride was worthless before a demon that could tear him to pieces in the blink of an eye.

It looked tasty enough, Dennis wasn't one to be picky about looks…

But, when he had a bite, his body churned with disapproval.

“What is this garbage?” Dennis tossed the plate to the side like a discus, smashing it against a bystanding servant. “Tastes like dog shit mixed with grass.” 

Rhaegar turned to the cook, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I… that was my finest dish, I swear it. I made no mistake-”

Dennis took another bite, and another, and another… hoping to capture that magic again. It was like falling from the highest of heavens, a perfect paradise to a barren mortal world that was full of filth. If Erina was a goddess in terms of cooking, the medieval chef was a clueless spider dipped in ink and thrown onto paper.

“Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting… ARGH!”

His body jumped as he leaned over and began vomiting everything right back into the plate. 

“BLAAAYT!” 

He slammed the table, shattering one of its legs just from the sheer force. Dennis then turned to the cook, who jumped from fear. 

“Eat this shit.”

“EAT IT!”

He rose to his feet and grabbed him by the neck, dragging him to the table and pressing his head against the plate. The cook hesitantly opened his mouth and had some of Dennis’ vomit, feeling the urge to vomit himself.

“Does it taste good?” Dennis questioned. “I call it Le Dennis Speciale, my finest dish.”

“ARGH… VOOOUGHH!”

The cook vomited as well, to which Dennis shoved him aside. Rhaegar did well to hide his disgust but most of the court didn't exercise his restraint.

“This man is deranged… surely the food isn't that bad.”

“In my experience, the servant’s cooking was always delicious.”

“He is a deranged man with a strange taste, undoubtedly. I would surmise he prefers eating ants, insects and perhaps even the flesh of men…”

Dennis wasn't deaf - far from it. His senses were honed to the point that he could hear every little whisper if he wished. In turn, he looked at the one who brought him a most brilliant suggestion.

“I do.”

To demonstrate, he sliced the man’s head off and began eating it, one mouthful after the other. It was at that point everyone had a better idea of the kind of beast they were dealing with. Essentially… they shut their mouths.

“Uhm.” Rhaegar cleared his throat. “Is there anything else you might need?”

“Can you sing that song?”

Rhaegar agreed to it, singing ‘Demon In Peasant’s Armour’. Meanwhile, Dennis had a couple of drinks. He found it pretty catchy.

“Do it again.”

“Again.”

Rhaegar was being violated time and time again, yet he never defied Dennis for he knew that wouldn't end well. Soon enough, he'd return to his home (wherever that was) and this would be no more than a passing tide… or so he thought.

“Demon dressed in Peasant's armour, Rising up from the farmer’s honour, with fists of iron and kicks of stone!”

The catchy tune led to Dennis singing along, his thunderous voice booming across the hall. As he continued, an idea came to him.

“My comrade Rhaegar!” Dennis wrapped his arm around his shoulder. “Come sing for me at home.”

“Your home?” Rhaegar mused, raising an eyebrow. “Unfortunately, I have my duties as King-”

“Who gives a shit?” Dennis looked around. “Fuck your kids, wives and all the podonoks here. They can find a new king to sit on that ugly chair.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible-”

“That wasn't a request, my friend.” Dennis grinned as a white light emerged before them. “It was an order.”

Dennis pushed him forward and into the portal. 

He gave everyone else one last look, grinning.

“Do svidaniya.”

He stepped through and vanished.

However, the white light didn't disappear immediately which allowed two of the Kingsguard to bravely charge in; Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Barristan. 

Not only that but Queen Lyanna Stark had also impulsively walked in after her King…

Raiden's Storm Chapter 62: Good King, Bad King

Meanwhile, in an inn dominated by blue capes.

"I failed you, my lady." 

Daman knelt at her seat, lowering his head. The rest also had guilt-ridden expressions, except Valaegor who stood against the wall with his arms crossed. Rhaerra observed the sight, sighing.

"No... it's not your fault at all. You did your very best. I cannot say that for everyone - especially Valaegor." She turned to him. "You were far too sloppy and full of yourself."

"Hmph." Valaegor shook his head. "I lost to a cheap trick."

"If you had defeated Ser Arthur, the tides of the entire match would have permanently shifted in our favour. Your duel with him may as well have been the deciding factor."

"..." He clenched his fists. "I won't lose to him again."

"You might not even have another chance."

"If he loses to someone before me, that is. It matters little since I will be the champion of the duelling event regardless."

"Is that so?" Rhaerra didn't look too amused.

"It is so!"

"Hey, hey... duelling champion? Val, you must be forgetting that I'm in the bracket." Gaegor chuckled.

"I don't want to hear anything from a fool who got dominated by a woman." Valaegor mocked his fellow comrade, shaking his head. "Watching it was too embarrassing."

"It was a two-on-one against the person who bested you." Gaegor's eyes lit up with a competitive edge. "If your sorry ass didn't get beaten, I would've handled her."

"Big Baegel is the STRONGEST!"

BANG.

Valaegor and Gaegor watched in terror as the strangely silent Baegel slammed the table and broke one of its legs from the impact. 

"Yes, you are definitely the strongest." Valaegor nervously chuckled.

"No argument from me..." Gaegor shook his head.

"Wait, no..." Baegel stroked his chin in deep thought. "The true strongest is King Storm, but he doesn't really count. Storm King is in another world. Big Baegel is the strongest man. King Storm is the strongest storm."

"Is he King Storm or Storm King?" Taelor laughed

"Men..." Rhaerra chuckled, shaking her head. "Since I gained inspiration from that defeat, it is not so great of a stain. Tomorrow, however, I expect one of you to grasp absolute victory. If any of you have to face each other, avoid a drawn-out duel and unnecessary wounds. Better yet, the worse fighter should just concede."

"... And if we can't determine the worse fighter?" Ballio questioned.

"Set your ego aside." Daman sighed, shaking his head. "We are all aware of who is most capable in single combat."

"Mhm, you all do." Valaegor grinned, nodding as looked at Gaegor. "It's me... isn't that right, my little brother?"

"I'm not so sure anymore - are you?"

"Whoever disobeys my instructions will be sold off to the Night's Watch." Rhaerra stroked her chin with a seemingly serious expression. "I'm sure King Edric would appreciate my gesture in giving away one of my most capable warriors to such a noble cause. Would anyone like to go up North and see some wights, mayhaps even one of the Others? Slay some wildlings, eat half-rotten apples and bread tougher than steel? Sounds like parad-"

"No, my lady!"

All of them spoke up in almost perfect unison.

"That's what I thought."

~

"We never spoke to each other despite the opportunity arising numerous times, Sandor Clegane."

Oberyn Martell sat down the end of the table facing the Hound, pouring himself some wine. The Hound didn't look too interested in a conversation.

"Fuck off."

"Not too hard to imagine why." Oberyn chuckled, shaking his head. “It's a pity, about the Mountain. I had intended to avenge my sister personally."

"Should've been faster." The Hound remarked, his frown easing slightly. He even grinned a little, recalling the day. "I killed the bastard first."

"So I've heard. How was it, killing your own brother?"

"The best day of my life."

"Would you share the details over some Dornish red?" Oberyn offered the bottle he had been holding on to. "I've had a few cups already-"

"Give it here." The Hound grabbed the bottle, raised it over his head and downed it like a waterfall. By the time he lowered it, less than half remained. He had a peculiar expression as the taste settled. "This wine tastes like a prince's piss."

"It is rich, indeed," Oberyn replied with a proud look. "Nothing like the red water that comes from the Arbour or anything you could find in King's Landing, for that matter."

"Wine is wine; it doesn't matter to me where it's made."

"I wouldn't expect you to have much of a refined taste. Regardless, since you've taken the entire bottle, the least you could do is share the story of the Mountain's fall."

He took a mouthful of wine before wiping his mouth.

"I spent a dozen minutes smashing his armour, got him to the ground and bashed his head in more times than I could count."

"... I never saw you as the most eloquent of people, but surely you can tell the story better?" Oberyn laughed, shaking his head in disappointment. 

"Ask a bloody singer." The Hound had more of the wine, downing it all down before slamming the bottle on the table. "They will tell you how the Hound danced around the Mountain, biting his arms, legs, knees, elbows and throat. They'd tell you that while the kin-slaying Hound was savouring the flesh of the Mountain, an arrow descended from a mountain."

"Oh?" Oberyn looked interested. "Is it true?"

"The little bastard saved my life." The Hound almost made a smile. "It was a rain of arrows, one after the other. Each one would take the life of a knight, lord or capable fighter. The men who had wished to call him a coward were either dead with an arrow through their skull or pisssing themselves all the way back to the Westerlands."

"One would think that a man like you would consider the bow a coward's weapon."

"It is." The Hound nodded. "He wields the bow because he fears the death of his allies and not the battle itself. He would face an army by himself if it came to it."

"The bravest coward," Oberyn remarked. "These two words oppose each other yet seem rather fitting. I believe he truly is remarkable. One moment, he can seem no different from a boy his age, full of smiles and laughter... and in the next - he becomes a storm of fury entirely focused on crushing whatever obstacle stands in his path."

"It makes you wonder, what drives a boy like that? What binds him to the crown?"

"There isn't anything left for him." The Hound replied, standing up from his seat. "The Realm took his old life and ripped it out of reach."

"... Some boys are thrown into the fire, dying or becoming men earlier than they should," Oberyn remarked as the Hound walked off. "It's an unfortunate truth of this world."

~

In the Black Cells.

I walked through the darkness of the black cells with a torch. Though the torch's blaze wasn't anything to write home about, it shined like a beacon of light because the cells had no other source of light whatsoever. 

If this was one big misunderstanding, then it would be pretty awkward. Even spending a day in these cells wouldn't be fun at all. Even so, I was quite certain these four goons were being especially aggressive. 

From so much fighting, I know when a man wants to kill me and when he doesn't.

"Good evening, gents." I smiled, taking a look at them. "One day in here, and you all seem to have aged a few years."

"I didn't do anything wrong, Your Grace. I swear it - I was just trying to win!"

"Killing me would be a big win, indeed." I nodded, keeping my smile. "How much did your master offer you? I am most curious."

"I have no master..."

"Neither do I; this is surely a misunderstanding."

"See, I'd love to think that it is." I clapped my hands. "Ah, how sweet that would be. I let you guys out, and we all go about our usual days. I don't waste my time dealing with garbage like you; get to go sleep a bit early, a rainbow pops out in the morning, winged unicorns start flying across it, and the shit in King's Landing all turns into gold. Wouldn't that all be wonderful?"

"Bastard... you're not intent on letting us out, even if we're innocent?"

"Ah, bastard, is it? It's like music to my ears." I looked down at the one who spoke back at me, grinning slightly. "Honestly? I'll let you all go off scot-free if you do just one thing for me. Tell me who placed the bounty on my head, and I'll forget that any of this happened."

"..."

Some of their expressions changed.

"I'm not even lying." I chuckled, shaking my head. "You could return to your wives and children if you have any. Have a hot meal, see the morning light, mayhaps even drink some wine if you can afford it. There's so much beauty in this world and you'd be losing on all of it... for what? Some rich man in velvet who doesn't give a single fuck about your existence? Will he lose sleep over your deaths?"

"Let's be smart for once. What do I even have to gain from killing you lot? Absolutely fuck all. Nothing."

"This could all be just a passing tide in our lives."

"... Skreknis Zo... Ghozkun." One of them spoke up. "A master from Slaver's Bay that happened to be in Myr at the time."

'What the fuck?' I raised an eyebrow in confusion. 'WHO the fuck is that guy? What stakes does he have in my death? Am I being trolled?'

"Is the lie truly worth death?" Lightning flickered in my left hand as I raised it, extending my index finger and pointing it at the one who spoke that name. "Think very carefully..."

"It was him, I swear it by everything! He didn't say why or how, he just wanted you dead and offered ten thousand gold coins for it."

"Ten thousand..." My frown deepened. 'Since he's from the other side of the world, I don't have the time nor resources to counter. But that doesn't answer why... is it even the right name?'

"Today, I'll have the truth." I determined, looking down on them. "No matter what method I must use."

"NOOOOO, STOP, AHH-"

"I SWEAR I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ELSE!"

"YOU SAID YOU'D LET US GO ARGHHH!"

...

After torturing them all with bursts of lightning, I discovered nothing new and simply wasted my time. I was irritated, slightly. I expected a name I actually knew. In desperation, they had begun saying random lords in the Seven Kingdoms like Tyrion Lannister, Doran Martell and even Renly Baratheon in hopes of me stopping.

It always lead back to Skreknis Zo Ghozkun, however. The master who hired them.

I looked at their four scorched bodies with a dissatisfied expression.

Interrogating people clearly wasn't my forte...

"It seems that you got it right the first time with your down-to-earth approach." Raiden Shogun remarked.

"Yeah..." I sighed, shaking my head. "Still, something about this doesn't seem right. I have no idea who that man is."

"Perhaps this slave master was nothing more than a middleman with someone above him pulling the strings? A wise man with vast amounts of wealth would not put himself in the line of fire in case a plot backfired... for, in this case, you would have his name and become aware that he is an enemy."

"... That makes more sense." I stroked my chin. "Yes, that is more believable. The true ringmaster keeps his hands clean completely while the middleman can fuck off to the other side of the world where I can't reach him..."

"Mhm."

"It's quite frustrating." I chuckled, shaking my head. "There is no way for me to counter, at least in the present. All I can do is keep living as normal."

"It would be quite difficult to assassinate you, regardless." Raiden Shogun remarked. 

"You are surrounded by some of the mightier warriors in the world while you, yourself, are a force that no simple mortal should be able to combat at your best. Your one and only weakness that makes you vulnerable is exhaustion... and relaxed temperament at times. A King can't afford to lower his guard for even a moment."

"Sounds like a path to losing my mind after becoming paranoid over every little thing and having no way to let loose a little," I countered, shaking my head. "I don't want to start seeing things that don't even exist in the first place. Maybe you can handle all of that and then some without faltering... but I'm not so sure I could hack it without losing myself."

She looked at me in her purple, caring, gaze as if she wanted to wrap her arms around me.

"... You are never alone, Edric Storm."

"Relying solely on one person isn't what I'd call healthy, either. That's the mistake that I made before."

It looked like she wanted to say something but didn't.

I blinked at her, and she shook her head.

"Nothing. Go along with your night."

I shrugged, walking past her.

I should get a good night's sleep and clear my head.

'What will the duels entail, I wonder... will the Kingsguard keep the bet alive or sell the bag along with my armour?'

I chuckled

'Competitions are a whole lot more fun with bets involved, after all...'

Raiden's Storm Chapter 61: The Seventh

“A member of the Kingsguard?" Loras questioned with a surprised tone. "One must be a knight to receive such an honour."

"True enough, all of the past Kingsguard were knights." Arthur nodded. "Even so, the Kingsguard are decided by His Grace - the King. If he sees that someone is worthy, knight or not, what does it matter?"

"It would make the Kingsguard look lesser." 

Of course, that wasn't the sole issue behind it. Another was the fact that Brienne was a woman. Women bearing arms was rare enough, but a Kingsguard? It had never happened before. It would be like publicly acknowledging her prowess... which would certainly cause uproar in parts of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Between the disagreement, Edric remained silent. A gentle breeze swept over them as Edric's black hair swayed ever so freely. His lip curled into a smile as he drew his sword. He looked at Arthur and exchanged nods before Arthur departed.

Edric then turned to Brienne.

"Brienne of House Tarth."

Her blue eyes glistened as Edric stepped forward, his regal golden cloak fluttering dramatically. When he raised his sword to the sky, the sun shined over it. 

"Do you know the complete oath?"

"... I know all the vows - but I would not be able to recite them perfectly."

"It's a long oath, I wouldn't blame you. Don't be afraid to improvise a little."

Edric put his sword on her right shoulder.

"I, Brienne of House Tarth, hereby swear on my honour to protect and serve the King and his family. I swear to be the shield that wards his life and the sword that cuts down his enemies, giving my blood and life for His if that is what it takes. I will not speak unless spoken to, and I will defend the King's peace, honour, lands and secrets or pay the price. I will wed no..."

Edric chuckled as Brienne paused and smiled reassuringly. The oaths naturally needed changes considering her gender.

"I will wed no husband, mother no children and hold no lands." Brienne took a deep breath. "Only death may release me from these vows. I will master the gate, pluck the bow, handle the blade and serve my realm: now and forever."

Edric moved his sword to the other shoulder.

"You may rise as a Sworn Sister of my Kingsguard, Lady Brienne." He sheathed his sword and offered his hand. "Welcome to the family."

"You honour me beyond words, Your Grace." 

She took his hand and helped herself up.

"Let your actions do the speaking, then." Edric smiled, patting her shoulder. "Words are just pieces of paper in the sky while actions are the wind that pushes them forward."

"I shall."

"Welcome," Loras said dryly, almost looking pleased, yet it was obvious enough that he wasn't fond of the decision. "I look forward to working alongside you."

"Loras, don't be like that just because she kept kicking your ass in Storm's End." Edric laughed, shaking his head. "Besides, who saved you from being embarrassed by Daman? You're really letting me down, you know. I might have to do a trade with Rhaerra and swap you out with him or maybe Valaegor..."

"With all due respect, Your Grace, I was on the verge of defeating him." 

"Were you, really? If I compare your contributions to Ser Arthur, I begin to wonder who really is the best Kingsguard. First, he bested Ballio without any major wounds and showed leadership by instructing Ser Balon and the Hound to take down Taelor. Then he struck down Raedor with his lance, defeated Valaegor and helped with the defeat of Gaegor and Daman."

Loras' pride was smacked right in the face, followed by a bucket of chilling water thrown into it.

Arthur had been raised alongside him for a handful of years, and during that time, Loras saw himself as someone who was firmly superior in practically every relevant aspect. Yet, day by day, he kept improving, and now... he didn't want to admit to being surpassed - especially not by someone seemingly less talented than him.

'Man was out fighting out there like he was possessed by the spirit of Michael Jordan.' Edric thought. 'Maybe there should be an MVP trophy next time around...'

"Your Grace, I unhorsed four of them." 

"That's the very least that I'd expect from the Knight of Flowers, who so proudly views himself as the best lance in the Seven Kingdoms," Edric remarked, speaking with a colder tone. "How about instead of looking down on others, you look at yourself and realise that you're not even half as good as you think you are... nor could be. As I see it, you should've unhorsed them all and defeated at least one in single combat."

Edric tilted his head as he observed Loras' frown. He raised an eyebrow of curiosity.

"Am I expecting too much? Do I think too highly of you?"

"... No, Your Grace." Loras shook his head, looking wounded. "I did underperform."

Edric scoffed.

"When you're the best of the Kingsguard and have the merit to back it, mayhaps you can speak of who's worthy of a white cloak and who's not. Until then... shut your mouth."

Edric's words were like hammer blows to Loras' ego. His eyes were like cloudy and unsettled skies, threatening to unleash a storm. As he turned away from Loras, his expression visibly lightened.

Hurried steps followed as Arthur sprinted over with a spare white cloak. 

"Ah, right on time." Edric smiled, looking over. "Would you do the honour, Ser?"

"Gladly, Your Grace."

Arthur nodded, fitting the white cloak over Brienne's back. Afterwards, he patted her shoulder.

"You're just missing the shining armour now." 

Brienne smiled.

"That will be arranged as soon as possible." Edric nodded, looking at Brienne. "If anyone comes to question your position, as I'm sure many will gossip about it, don't pay them any heed. You belong in the Kingsguard, and their crying will never change that."

"I thank you for your confidence, Your Grace. I hope to live up to your expectations."

"Loosen up a bit." Edric chuckled, shaking his head. "There's a middle-ground between being you and Ser Loras regarding humbleness. Anyway, there's another appointment I'd like to make. Ser Arthur..."

"Yes, Your Grace?"

"How would you like to be acting Lord Commander?"

The sudden, blunt way in which he spoke those words caught Arthur off-guard. Becoming acting Lord Commander with the way things were with Ser Barristan was akin to outright naming him Lord Commander. It wasn't something he'd ever even considered, however.

"Certainly, I'd love to, but..."

"But?" Edric tilted his head. "Don't tell me that Brienne's halo of humbleness inflicted you?"

"I am too inexperienced - I doubt that the Kingsguard would follow my commands as well as they would Ser Barristan. I simply cannot fill his shoes as I am."

Edric did not look moved by his reply.

"Well, you'll be getting plenty of experience now, my good friend." Edric chuckled, grabbing his shoulder. "I am naming you the first ever Serjeant of the Kingsguard, second only to the Lord Commander and the one who shall act in his stead."`

As if the slap and cold bucket weren't enough, Loras had an anvil drop from the skies onto his head. Figuratively, of course. This was arguably worse than losing out on a Valyrian Steel sword. That was the second honour Ser Arthur beat him to.

Arthur smiled at his helplessness on the matter, accepting his fate.

"I shall do my best, Your Grace."

"Good."

"Congratulations, Ser Arthur." Brienne nodded approvingly.

"Well deserved," Loras said with a smile that almost twitched. "It seems that history has been made twice over today. I am sure that it is a day that will be remembered for many years to come."

"Speaking of... do you truly not want the gold prize?" Edric looked at Brienne. "You could do a lot with ten thousand."

"This white cloak is priceless to me," Brienne answered, shaking her head. "You should use the gold to benefit the Realm instead."

"You are a true knight, Brienne."

Edric smiled, turning away. All the while, Brienne's face flushed slightly as the compliment resounded in her mind over and over. 

"You three, come... it's time I returned to the Red Keep."

...

With the seven-a-side melee's champion decided, the tourney was halted until the next day. On the way out, he found Rhaerra following along.

"How much is it to rent a workspace in the Red Keep? I find your inns too small to conduct my work effectively."

"That's a first," Edric remarked, stroking his chin. "Is there some specific reason you're asking now?"

"I simply feel inspired."

"There's a large courtyard no one really uses, I suppose. How long do you need it?"

"Three moons."

"Five hundred."

"That is a swindler's price. A hundred and fifty would be more acceptable."

"It's my Red Keep." Edric shrugged. "Though, I could lower it to three hundred since you want to be so stingy."

"I wonder who truly is stingy by avoiding paying as many champions as he can during this tournament. I bet your heart shrivels at the mere thought of giving away any substantial amount of gold."

"Shrivels, breaks and shatters." Edric nodded nonchalantly, speaking with a tone of sarcasm. "It feels like I'm being robbed in broad daylight while everyone is clapping and cheering. An awful, truly awful, experience each time."

"..." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Fine, I'll give you five hundred since you're so poor. Consider me being charitable."

Edric wanted to say he was joking, but five hundred gold dragons was a good amount of money... yet she called him poor at the same time. His pride as a king was wounded, without a doubt.

Arya chuckled as she saw his predicament.

"Says the one betting a mere mask against my brilliant, iconic, armour." Edric shrugged his shoulders.

"This is no mere simple mask; it was one of Uthero Zalyne's masks, the Sealord who announced Braavos' existence to the world in the First Unveiling."

"... You have to be lying."

"Believe what you will. Will you take my gold or not?"

"... Sure. Courtyard's all yours."

~

After showing her the courtyard, he went off to speak with Varys, who confirmed what Dabhal Cho had said. 

"He has an impressive streak of victories, that is true." Varys stroked his chin. "As for conquering the Summer Islands and putting him in power, I doubt it would be worth the effort, time and cost. The Summer Islands are not known for their stability. Scarcely does anyone manage to unite them all, yet alone keep them together..."

"I will be the one to do it." Edric determined with a look of confidence. "When I am not preoccupied with matters in the Seven Kingdoms, that is. For now, I wish for you to spread the word that Dabhal Cho is a friend of mine, and any who would seek to challenge him may as well be challenging me."

"As you wish, Your Grace."

...

Edric then went to see the Hound, who had been drinking it up in his own corner of the Great Hall. 

"You've seen better days."

"What are you going to say? I failed you? Don't care."

"The others picked up the slack, so it's not so bad." Edric sat down next to him. "In the grand scheme of things, it's just a little melee. It doesn't matter all that much."

"Say the truth." The Hound scoffed.

"I mean, you did look more like a scared puppy than a hound towards the end in front of pretty much the entire Realm - but I understand why. It's not really your fault. You tried to fight your greatest fear, but your body wasn't having it."

"Ugh..." The Hound sighed, waving his hand. "Go away."

Edric grabbed his shoulder briefly, patting it.

"Make them pay tomorrow in the duels, Hound. Don't leave any meat on the bones."

He stood up and walked away.

The Hound found himself laughing.

"Don't leave any meat on the bones..."

Meanwhile, Edric moved on to the black cells.

'Time to find out who wants me dead... well, at least one of the people. I bet it's a decently long list by now...'

Barbarian's Path To Multiversal Domination Chapter 13: Dennis Falls In Love

Dennis had appeared at the entrance of the Totsuki Culinary Academy, clad in the Armour of Brutus. He had both of his swords at his side, dagger, crossbow on his back and a hidden blade on each gauntlet. It was safe to say the man looked like he was ready for any kind of battle… unless guns were involved.

He kicked down the wooden gate, which wasn't particularly strong. Though, it was also in part to his growing strength. The Dennis of old wouldn't have so casually taken it down.

Naturally, he drew the eyes of security.

“Who the hell is he?”

“The better question is how did he take down the gate like that…”

“Are those swords real?”

They started talking in Japanese, to which Dennis didn't even bother trying to comprehend them. He smelt the good food miles away, being allured by it.

“Sir, you can't just break into the academy grounds without a permit-”

Without even looking at the guards, he went full sprint.

“He’s getting away!”

The guards didn’t even bother running after him for too long as he had long since left them in the dust.

…

Two combatants stood in the middle of a large arena that was akin to a colosseum, filled with students as spectators. However, this was no ordinary battle where men would wield lethal armaments to slay the other. This was a food battle, formaly known as a Shokugeki. Each of them had an identical kitchen with a multitude of appliances to use.

Their goal? Well, it’s quite self-explanatory. They would cook a dish each and an odd number of judges (three, in this case) would choose which one they prefer. The one with the most votes wins.

But it wasn’t quite as simple as losing and winning - higher stakes were almost always involved.

“Our Chanko Hot Pot Research Society has existed since the founding of this academy. It has a long and glorious history. What do you propose to build after razing our club-room, Nakiri-kun?”

A sumo-wrestler built second year student questioned his opponent, the tenth ranked student and granddaughter of the principal.

“Why, a cooking wing for my personal use. The fifth wing has become cramped, so I need a sixth-”

“Unacceptable!” The fat student interrupted, pointing a finger at Erina Nakiri. “That building is chock full of history and the passion our predecessors poured into their pursuit of food! You seek to trample that in the mud? How dare you call yourself a chef?!”

She looked unfazed by his outburst, looking down on him. After a sigh, Erina gave her reply.

“Is this ‘passion’ you speak of what you call copying your predecessor’s recipes and wasting your budget?”

The student’s eyes and mouth widened in reply, though no words came out.

“In the last few years, your group has accomplished very little.” Erina continued. “A research society that only sings the praises of their past glory is of little use to Totsuki.”

Her death stare led to the student frowning with anger.

“You abuse your power! I can no longer turn a blind eye… if I win, I demand that you leave the Elite Ten!”

“I demand combat, Nakiri Erina!”

She was completely unfazed, putting on her chef hat.

“Then if I win, I will proceed with the construction as planned.”

They came to a mutual agreement, beginning the Shokugeki.

…

The judges scored 3-0 for Erina Nakiri.

“Impossible…” The second-year student couldn't believe it, facing the judges. “Just how did my lobster fall short!?”

Erina walked past him, giving his dish a taste. After only a second, she found all the flaws related to it.

“There were 27 shortcomings in your dosh, senpai. First, the lobster: you blanched it two seconds too long. Secondly, the oysters produced a slight-off flavor that tainted your entire hot pot. As for your vegetables-”

“Stop!” He shouted, in denial. “Then how was your cooking?!”

He proceeded to take a dumpling and the truth unraveled in his mouth. He completely forgot that he was competing as the delicious taste took him tumbling down like a seasoned sumo wrestler.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded.

“There has been a security breach, all students are to be wary of a man armed to the teeth in black and red. If you find him, report the sighting immediately. We are working on apprehending him.”

BANG.

The sound of a door breaking down sounded as the earth shook with each thunderous step. It was as if a bull had charged into the arena. He didn't slow down as he made it to the main stage.

“It seems that this strange man is already here!-”

Dennis whipped out his crossbow and shot the student’s throat.

“YOU ATE MY FOOD!!!”

It was personal.

As the sumo-wrestler-built student clutched his throat, Dennis drew Blackfyre and the Dagger of Brutus at once. With Blackfyre in his left, he sliced off the student’s entire right arm while he stabbed the bottom of his colossal stomach with the dagger. The dagger dug deep before Dennis dragged it all the way up - through the student’s entire stomach.

Blood poured out of the long wound like a fountain, but Dennis wasn't finished.

He let go of both weapons and put his hands through the slit - tearing it open.

“WHERE IS IT, BLAAAYT…”

With a mighty roar, he forced open his entire stomach like a butchered animal.

It was a horrific sight, making some students faint while most felt absolute fear crawl up their backs. Erina Nakiri couldn't believe what she was seeing, being only a couple of steps away. Some of the blood had sprayed into her.

Meanwhile, Dennis clawed through the student’s stomach, in search of the dumpling he had eaten. Eventually, he did find it and savored it - blood, guts, food and all. As the cannibal feasted, no one had the courage to stop him.

Dennis went for seconds.

When he tried her cooking unbloodied and took the first bite, he felt as if he had been KO’d by Mike Tyson himself. He fell to his knees, feeling the dumpling melt in his mouth. The ravioli dish was so delicious that the feeling it gave was akin to meeting a mighty rival who had defeated him.

He wanted more…

Immediately, he took the last dumpling and realized just how amazing food could be. All his life, he had been eating cheap garbage, heavily processed, poorly cooked, bad seasoning - except for the food Grace made him. Even then, this was a whole different realm of deliciousness…

Everything was perfect. Bliss. Paradise. A utopia for his mouth.

It was as if he had lived a lie his entire life and at last… he had grasped the truth of the universe.

“Food… good. Food… is love… food is life.”

Dennis savored every last drop on the plate, going so far as to dash forward to the judges and lick up the atoms on their plates like a hungry dog.

A team of security guards rallied around, though they didn't really have anything to offer in terms of weapons. They weren't police officers.

“All students, evacuate the building immediately!”

Nakiri Erina stepped behind the security, turning away in fright. One of them escorted her out. She had never witnessed a killing, nevermind one so brutal right in front of her face. Whoever this man was, he seemed beyond deranged.

Once he finished eating everything, his eyes flashed and glared at the escaping Erina.

There was chaos in the arena as a swathe of people began running out. Dennis looked unamused by the security, pointing his wrist at one of them and firing off the hidden gun.

BANG.

The bullet went right through the guard’s chest, dropping him to the ground. The rest stood with shocked expressions. As they were dazed by what just happened, Dennis went down and grasped his weapons that he’d dropped. With Blackfyre and the Dagger of Brutus, he carved right through them before aiming to charge out.

Only problem was that the arena exits were covered by hundreds of people with Erina on the other side already.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

Dennis began killing all of the students in front of him, causing even more panic and leading to them running out even quicker. Eventually, he did made it out - only to see Erina getting into a car and being driven away.

Like a madenned dog pumped full of drugs, he chased after her.

Erina looked back with a horrified expression as she saw Dennis running on all fours.

“Drive faster… faster…”

“FOOD… DENNIS WANTS MORE FOOD!”

He eventually straightened himself, going full sprint. His pace was absolutely inhuman as he began catching up to the car. Erina’s heart was rapidly pounding as she was too scared to even look back. What did that madman even want with her? She couldn't understand his language…

“FOOOOOOOD!!!”

Dennis eventually caught up, leaping forward onto the top of the car. He crawled further and drew Blackfyre, piercing through the window and killing the driver.

The car spiralled uncontrollably before Dennis grabbed hold of it and altered the momentum with his strength - stopping it in its tracks.

Erina’s head jolted in response. She quickly turned to the door and opened it, running away as fast as she could.

Dennis was far faster, catching up to her in the local forest and grabbing hold of her arm.

Even though he was forceful, his touch was strangely gentle.

How else could she cook if he broke her? Dennis knew this, treating her like the treasure of his life.

“What… do you want?”

She didn't even look at him, glancing away and closing her eyes. He was like a mountain, literally and figuratively. The pressure of his aura made it hard to breathe as it crashed down onto her timid body.

He grabbed her chin and made her look up at him.

“Yo, look at me.”

She kept her eyes closed.

“Bitch doesn't know English.” Dennis sighed, shaking his head. He stepped back, patiently waiting for her.

It felt all too strange. Usually when someone disobeyed him, he'd use force and get his way. In this regard, he couldn't communicate with words nor hurt her too much or she couldn't cook for him.

He snapped his fingers.

“Grace, where the fuck are you?”

A portal appeared behind him. He grabbed Erina’s shoulder and threw her through before walking in himself.

~

[First cook acquired, Kitchen built.]

The next thing Dennis saw was a modest, clean kitchen. Grace sat on one of the counters, observing the new inhabitant. She smiled while nodding approvingly.

“You have good taste.”

Erina Nakiri looked around, raising an eyebrow.

“We were just in a forest, so how…”

“You're speaking English now?” Dennis looked surprised.

“This place conveniently translates all words into the language you're most familiar with.” Grace explained, shrugging. “Essentially, you're speaking Japanese to her and she's speaking English to you. This way everyone understands each other perfectly.”

“... Okay.” Dennis scratched his hair without thinking too much about it. He turned to Erina. “I want you to cook for me.”

Erina blinked confusedly.

“To put it plainly, Dennis travelled through time and space specifically to have you cook for him. Even better… if you serve a worthy enough banquet, we'll let you go back home before Dennis went full psycho. Isn't that great?”

“That's all?” Erina questioned.

Dennis looked at Grace and she smiled.

“Of course. I even went through the effort of getting all types of ingredients. You're free to cook whatever - but I'd suggest it having meat. Dennis is more of a carnivore.”

“... Very well.”

She took a deep breath, gathering herself and trying to wash away the memory of Dennis’ brutality. Strangely, she found Grace very reassuring. She was the opposite of the brutish and barbaric Dennis; radiant, soft-spoken, eloquent, charming… it was like a beautiful angel standing next to the devil himself. Little did she know, they were both very much devils - only in different ways.

Erina began cooking under the amazed and hungry eyes of Dennis. She worked extremely fast, making dishes appear out of what seemed thin air. Before long, most of Grace’s gathered ingredients had been used in various ways to create a myriad of gourmet dishes.

It was clear that she was trying her best despite the strange and frightening circumstances, sparing no effort.

“I'm do-”

HUM. HUM. HUM.

Dennis began munching before Erina could even announce that she had finished. She watched him gobble down dish after dish like an endless vacuum. It seemed as if there was no end to his appetite.

Meanwhile, to Dennis, each gourmet dish felt like a worthy duel that kept him on the edge of his feet. The feeling was like fighting heavyweight legend after heavyweight legend. George Founier, Sugar Ray, Mike Tyson, Muhammed Ali…

Dennis was in heaven.

When he finished, the man just stood looking at the ceiling with a satisfied face of ecstasy. Not even his greatest battles had made him feel that way, nor Grace in all her beauty.

“So… when can I return home?”

“Hm.”

Grace observed Dennis’ expression and felt a twinge of jealousy. He did not react this way to her cooking. Originally, she had intended to lie to Erina but she began to think that maybe sending her back home wasn't the worst idea. They could always find another chef…

“Right away, of course.”

“No.” Dennis’ face changed as he stepped towards Erina, firmly grabbing her shoulder. “I need you. Stay and cook for me… always.”

“That… wasn't part of the deal.” Erina’s voice trembled slightly as she felt intimidated. “I don't belong in this strange place-”

“Yes, you do.” Dennis countered, his eyes glowing golden. “You belong to me. I took you.”

“It's unfortunate, princess.” Grace spoke with a mocking tone. “Since Dennis decided you'll stay, your only real choices are to either live as a prisoner or accept this new way of life. Suicide is another, I suppose… but we'd just kidnap another Erina and the cycle would repeat itself.”

“Why me?” She questioned. “There are other, better chefs…”

“It’s rare to see you so humble, sweetheart.” Grace smiled, touching the side of her face. “We are not here to hurt you. If anything, this might even be a better place than home. You don't have any responsibilities other than cooking for Dennis. Sure, the place is rather dull at the moment but we can work on it. Hell, we could go on vacations together.”

“I could even bring your secretary and cousin along.”

“Grace, you sort her out. I'm ready to go and fight someone.”

“Already, huh… well, I have a list of tasks for you before your next great conquest. These are requests from our benefactor who will reward each completion handsomely.”

Grace whipped out a clipboard with a sheet of paper, giving it to Dennis. He gave it a read.

~

Task 1: Barbarian’s Lackeys

Description: Recruit five followers to your cause.

Reward: The Whip Of Authority

~

Task 2: Demon vs Demon Round Two

Description: Get vengeance on Robert Baratheon by defeating him in single combat.

Reward: The Demon of the Trident (MAXED loyalty) and a Gym.

~

Task 3: Hey, I Know You

Description: Visit a timeline you've been in before and see the aftermath of your deeds.

Reward: Bathroom.

~

Long-term Goal: Self-Sufficient

Description: Build a farm and provide enough entertainment for your followers to have a pleasant time within your residence.

Reward: Divine Spring of Strength

~

“That's long.” Dennis didn't look interested. “Build a farm? I'm not a farmer.”

“What I suggest you do is defeat Robert Baratheon first, then visit your Brotherhood and recruit some of your assassins who are already loyal to you. That way, you knock off two birds with one stone with hardly any effort. Of course, you could also go visit Rhaegar or Princess Rhaena. Also, don't worry about the last one… it's not supposed to be done immediately.”

Dennis nodded, agreeing to her suggestions.

“I’ve been waiting to fight that horned dolboyob for a while now.”

“Now's your chance.”

Raiden's Storm Chapter 60: Teamwork Makes The Dream Work

Arthur used various techniques to bypass Ballio’s armour, fighting like a man possessed. While Ballio was stronger and more durable, Arthur was a great deal faster which was an advantage he aimed to abuse. Nightfall sang time and time again, making cuts in Ballio’s armour and even precisely unfastening certain parts.

“Damn you-”

Slash.

He had sliced off Ballio’s gauntlets, aiming to cripple his hand. Ballio responded by hitting Arthur’s chin with the back end of his halberd. Arthur stumbled back, feeling a great deal of pain despite his helmet. It was then that Ballio raised his halberd to the sky and aimed to slam the axe-head right on Arthur’s own head.

It was then that Arthur drew the second sword at his side, the same one Edric had forged from him.

CLANG.

He raised both swords to hold Ballio’s halberd.

Ballio frowned, stepping forward and exerting even greater force.

BANG.

It was then that Arthur smiled slightly, letting go and slipping to the side while Ballio’s halberd slammed down into the ground.

Slash.

He proceeded to slit through one of his wrists with the more ordinary sword while aiming Nightfall for a gap in his armour.

Slash.

He slashed his armpits, drawing blood again. He then stabbed Nightfall right into the chest plate while Ballio was dazed, aiming to tear it apart.

“I… concede! I concede!”

Ballio’s voice erupted as he turned tail and ran away, clutching his wrist. Arthur took a deep breath and looked around with focused eyes. He didn't even take a moment to celebrate ake this time because he knew it was far from over.

At the same time, Valaegor had defeated Ser Balon and it was back to an even split. Eight remained in total, four from each team.

“Hmm…”

Thing about the horses was that most of the ones from Rhaerra’s side were unharmed as Loras had only aimed to unhorse their riders. Arthur ran to the closest one, rearing it in. He took an unbroken lance and mounted the horse

“What a splendid idea.”

Valaegor, free from combat like Arthur, took a horse for himself as well.

Arthur proceeded to ride towards the closest combatant; Raedor - who was preoccupied with Brienne. By the time he looked back and realised what was happening it was too late.

Clang.

Arthur crashed his lance against the armour of Raedor, slamming him to the ground. It was then that Brienne capitalised on the dazed warrior and started beating him down.

“I concede!”

Arthur turned, seeing Valaegor do the same to the Hound except instead of a lance, he was swinging around his poleaxe. The Hound, despite being overwhelmed, defended himself well enough.

That was… until Valaegor’s poleaxe lit up on fire.

The Hound’s eyes widened in fear as the fire swung around his head. He saw it again, his face being pressed into the fire. He took several steps back before turning to run.

“How fire can make a coward of such a tough dog…” Valaegor remarked. “It's almost pitiful.”

He swung the poleaxe on Sandor’s back, sending the Hound to the ground while delivering a devastating blow. The blunt force was great enough to crack into his armour, even.

“VAL!!!” Gaegor roared, unusually furious. “I was in a duel against a worthy opponent!”

“You're battle-hungry again.” Valaegor rolled his eyes. “Maybe don't take five centuries fighting your opponent? Besides, it's a teambattle-”

“Do something like that again and I'm carving THIS AXE into your horse’s fucking ASS!”

“Okay, okay… I'll go find someone else.”

…

Meanwhile, Edric glanced at Rhaerra.

“You knew of the Hound’s weakness?”

“I know a great many things.” Rhaerra replied with a slight smile. “Do you think I'd send my men to battle ill-prepared?”

“Hmmm…” Edric began to feel slightly concerned regarding his bet. “Who would've thought that Valaegor is also a red priest. It seems like he is talented in many facets of life.”

“Of course, he is. Valaegor comes from the same bloodline as I do.”

“Cousins?” Edric raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed. Most of my men are related to me, somewhere down the tree.”

“You certainly have a preference.” Edric chuckled. “Keeping it in the family and all-”

“I appreciate your curiosity, but I am very much a maiden.”

“Uh-huh. You're saying it like that matters to me.” Edric raised an eyebrow.

“Do not get the wrong idea, it is not my intention to court you.”

“I prefer it that way.” Edric chose to change the topic. “You bought them from slavery, right?”

Rhaerra nodded.

“... Its understandable that you don't want others to live that life but you should realise that you only fuel their business further.” Edric shook his head. “They'll keep breeding new slaves over and over, refusing to sell all of them at once. Hell, they'll even increase the price knowing that you want to free them to extort you.”

“I know how business works, Your Grace.” Rhaerra rested her head on her hand. “Never is there enough gold for those slavers. You could give them a hill of gold and they'd only seek a mountain after.”

“I know one way to make any man content with what he has.”

“I am well aware.” Rhaerra glanced at his left hand, which sparked with a small bit of lightning. “That is why I asked you if the thought of conquest had ever crossed your mind. With the banners of the Seven Kingdoms and you at the head of it all, Lys wouldn't last a single moon.”

“I'd likely get all of the Free Cities looking at me like a warmonger and potential threat, too.” Edric smiled, stroking his chin. “Wouldn't that be fun?”

Rhaerra smiled slightly at his sarcasm.

“It is during times like these that a truly great man preservers and builds a bridge so that others may cross it to greener pastures.”

“Can’t say I'm all that experienced at bridge building.” Edric mused with a jestful tone.

“You have plenty of time to learn.”

Arya had been rather silent, listening keenly. She couldn't find the right time to interrupt them without forcing it.

“So… which one of your men do you consider your best fighters?” Arya questioned as Edric’s conversation grinded to a halt.

“The strongest would be Baegel, Daman has the best mind for battle and defence while Gaegor has the most formidable warrior instincts with a strong body to match. Overall, Valaegor is the most impressive athletically and in terms of skill. There are those who might be better in a few aspects such as strength, speed, skill, endurance, yet no one can match him in a combination of all the factors that make a warrior.”

“Now I regret not fighting him.” Edric sat back. “His big mouth had something behind it, after all.”

“So you could injure him and ensure your victory here?” Arya raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Edric scoffed, waving his hand away. “No way I'd ever be that underhanded. I just would've liked an exciting duel.”

“Uh-huh.”

…

“Stealing our horses, are we?!” Valaegor turned to Arthur, riding towards him.

Arthur sped up, preparing his lance. Valaegor rode slightly off-angle, to his left. Arthur managed to shift his lance just in time, only to realise that his horse had a fear of fire. It reared out of control, leading to Valaegor smashing his poleaxe against his plate armour.

Arthur fell from his horse all the way to the ground.

“Time to put you to sleep.”

As Valaegor raised his poleaxe, Arthur awakened from his daze and swiftly drew Nightfall, slashing through one of the horse’s legs. Before the horse could fall, he rolled out of the way.

“... I'm still wide awake.”

Arthur remarked, getting back on his feet and running over to Valaegor who was still under his horse. He tried to push it off but Arthur took his fallen poleaxe and smashed it against his hand.

“Kingsguard cunt… where's your honour?!”

“In this victory.”

He aimed to hit his other hand but Valaegor drew a sword and waved it at him. Arthur withdrew, using his longer reach to hit his outstretched arm and slide his sword to the side.

Then he raised the poleaxe, aiming to smash it against his head.

“Concede!”

“I'll see you in the duels, tresy hen nykeā līve.” Valaegor cursed in High Valyrian, frowning as Arthur kept lowering the poleaxe . “I concede… are you deaf?”

“Speak plainly next time.”

“Maybe I should since you're so brainless.”

Arthur lowered the poleaxe and helped him off the horse. Valaegor glared at him, considering continuing the fighting. Then he looked to the side and saw Edric grinning. Even though he doubted that anyone other than Arthur had heard him, it would look too obvious.

Valaegor bumped his shoulder against Arthur’s before spitting on the ground and walking off with his poleaxe.

Arthur definitely felt that bump.

‘These valyrians…’

Meanwhile, on the other side.

Where the Hound had fallen, Gaegor stood with a look of despair.

“You have lost your fighting spirit, my friend.”

“I'm not your bloody friend.”

The Hound managed to get on his feet and grab hold of his Warhammer. He saw the fire once more, his heart quickening. It had been right next to his chest. He could imagine it burning him.

His grasp tightened.

“Fuck fire. Fuck your axes. Fuck everything.”

“So, I would be right.”

“The big ugly bitch is coming for your head.”

Gaegor turned to see Brienne approaching them. It was then that the Hound struck… only he was a tad bit too slow. Gaegor managed to block with one of his axes and countered with the other - aiming for the Hound’s head.

Clang.

He connected, dropping him to the ground.

Before he could deal the finishing blow, Brienne waved her chained Morningstar forward. Gaegor deflected the blow, wrapping the chain around his axe and countering with the other.

Brienne stepped back, being forced to let go of her weapon.

The Hound tossed his warhammer in her direction before forcing himself to get off the ground. He then looked at Brienne.

“I get the bastard on the ground, you hit him.”

Brienne watched the Hound charge forward like a bull. She wasted no time grabbing hold of the warhammer and charging forward right behind him.

Gaegor raised an eyebrow, sidestepping the Hound and hitting him in the head once again. It was then that Brienne surged forward to tackle him. He saw through that attempt, stepping around her and countering with a lethal combination.

It felt like Gaegor was completely untouchable in terms of defense and inevitable in terms of offense.

Before long, he finally forced the Hound to submit while pushing back Brienne. It was then that Arthur joined her, his white cloak looking quite withered from all the fighting.

“Let's finish this, Brienne.” Arthur spoke with a tone of absolute confidence. “He can't beat us both.”

“...” Brienne smiled behind her helmet. “Let us.”

In a joint dance of Morningstar and Nightfall, Gaegor found himself overwhelmed. Ser Arthur was faster while Brienne was stronger. He found it strangely difficult to balance his twin axes against this combination.

Brienne eventually hit his hand, leading him to losing grip on one axe while Arthur cut off another piece of his armour.

They continued attacking him, almost in perfect synch.

This display of teamwork eventually overwhelmed the Valyrian warrior as his wounds began to accumulate.

He was forced to his knees.

“I… concede.”

“One more.” Arthur looked at Loras and Daman in the distance. “To victory.”

“To victory.”

When they arrived to the rescue, Loras surprisingly didn't scoff.

“Looks like you need some help, Knight of Flowers.” Arthur remarked.

“Does it?” Loras smirked slightly as his breath sounded laboured. “I'm doing just fine…”

“Yeah, right. It's not like you've spent this whole time trying to get past his defense.”

“I’m on the cusp… of defeating him.” Loras replied taking a deep breath.

“It seems to be the other way around to me.”

“To think that it would come to this…” Daman looked at the three. “I concede.”

And so, the Kingsguard (plus the Hound and Brienne) won the team melees. Edric left his seat and walked over to the center of the tourney grounds where they all threw champions kneeled at his feet.

“You've all made me proud today… but there can only be one true champion who will be walking away with ten thousand gold dragons.” Edric placed his hands behind his back. “You can decide amongst yourselves or fight for it. Eh, if you all agree on it, the prize can be split evenly too.”

“I am not worthy.” Loras said, shaking his head. “They have both contributed to this victory more than I have.”

“So you concede?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You may rise and step to the side.”

“Ser Arthur accomplished far more than I did in the entirety of this melee.” Brienne said, lowering her head. “It would not be fai-”

“I concede.” Arthur took off his helmet and smiled as he looked up at Edric. “Gold is of no consequence to me, Your Grace. All that matters is that my sworn brothers brought you victory and honour on this day.”

“You guys are hopeless.” Edric chuckled, shaking his head. “I suppose that makes you the champion, Brienne.”

“I don't wish for gold, either.”

“...” Edric raised an eyebrow. “It would not look well if the champion was left unrewarded.”

“If I may… I wish to join the Kingsguard.”

This was a sentence that caught everyone off guard.

Raiden's Storm Chapter 59: Dance Of White And Blue

Though it was underhanded and highly dishonourable, there was no rule explicitly against killing horses. It was essentially an unwritten rule that most would not dare break (cough). However, Rhaerra's men were foreigners and did not hold the same idea of honour.

"I ought to disqualify your team," Edric remarked with a jestful tone.

"Are you afraid that you can't win on the ground?" She crossed her arms. "Besides, there are no such silly rules in a true battle. You either win, or you die. Is a melee not supposed to be an imitation of that?"

"You either win, or you die." Edric repeated, nodding as he slowly rose to his feet. "That's fine by me."

"KINGSGUARD!" 

A voice like thunder echoed across the grounds, gaining the attention of its intended alongside the rest of the tourney grounds.

"Use every skill, tactic and weapon at your disposal. Take every advantage that presents itself. Do not quiver at the thought of fighting without honour, for they will not!"

"Attain victory at all costs!"

Brienne, being the closest one, heard him best. It was all good and well that they could fight dirty, but Brienne wasn't exactly experienced in that. 

"Taelor, circle the arena and harass their group," Daman instructed, raising his shield to block one of Balon's arrows. "The rest of you focus on your individual matchups and aid those who require assistance."

"Big Baegel needs to make up for losing the melee…" 

He didn't look too fond of focusing on a woman in a fight, which made Brienne realise that he underestimated her. To this end, she took a more defensive approach. 

"If they seek to fight without honour, then so shall we," Arthur spoke, glancing back. "Ser Balon, Hound, fire on his horse!"

Ballio took this as an opportunity to strike, swinging a halberd right at Arthur's head. His eyes widened with shock as Nightfall flashed to block the axehead. The speed of the swing was like a flash of lightning. 

"Yes, captain." 

The knight was not one to have pride or an inflated ego and simply obeyed his younger sworn brother. He took his bow and readied an arrow, firing it towards the horse's eye. Taelor rode past, countering with an arrow that practically bounced off Balon's armour…

Then, a javelin from the Hound struck Taelor's shoulder, piercing the lighter armour he wore and digging into his flesh.

"Argh…"

The horse archer cried out in pain, dropping his bow. 

As he focused on taking out the javelin, Balon fired once more and hit his mark. Taelor's horse neighed in its pain, rising up before wildly charging Balon. The archer fired on its legs… forcing it to fall alongside Taelor. He had waited a bit between his shots, leading to them almost reaching him. 

Then, Balon drew his morningstar and was about to bash his head.

"I concede! I concede!"

"Go on, then." Balon stopped his swing. "Get out of the way."

Taelor ran off, clutching the javelin stick to his shoulder. Balon observed the field of battle, seeing Ser Arys struggling against Daman, Ser Mandon getting beaten, and the rest matching their opponents. He chose to go ahead and aid Ser Arys.

Meanwhile, on a separate side of the arena.

"I am your opponent!"

Whoosh, whoosh.

The Hound dodged Gaegor's twin axes, which aimed right for his head. Since all of Rhaerra's men except Taelor wore full plate armour, the Hound had chosen to use a warhammer. It wasn't quite as formidable nor heavy as Edric's... but it was still a warhammer nontheless.

A few good hits from the Hound, and most men would fall.

The problem was Gaegor had agility that surpassed the Hound's, making up for their disparity in strength and putting him on the defensive. His coordination with his twin axes was also seemingly perfect. He hadn't seen a man who could wield a weapon in each hand so well. It was as if the axes, indeed, were twins and read each other's thoughts - fighting in perfect sync.

With the Hound on the backfoot, he wasn't able to aid anyone else. 

"You're brilliant with the lance, but it seems that's all you're really good for," Valaegor remarked, swinging a long crescent-shaped poleaxe at Loras.

Loras blocked the blow with his own axe, albeit being pushed back a step.

"Right... you're good with swords too." Valaegor chuckled, withdrawing and swinging for his head without hesitation. "Particularly when it comes to taking them."

Loras didn't reply, keeping his composure and blocking once again. 

"Not much of a talker, huh? That's no fun. I believed a pompous, arrogant, noble like you would have more to say."

"There is nothing to say to a man who is about to lose to me."

"That's more like it. Except... you couldn't be more wrong. I'll beat you again, just like I did in that race. I'll beat you in the duelling event as well as the joust. I'd beat you in anything, really. You're just inferior."

Loras didn't believe that he'd ever face someone who was more cocksure arrogant than him. Here he was, experiencing what others likely experienced fighting against him. It was enlightening in a way.

The problem was that Valaegor wasn't exactly wrong. He was an inch taller, skilled, stronger, just as fast, with longer reach and even a weapon that countered his own. He couldn't even get close to the foreigner without being swung at.

However, Valaegor's poleaxe was definitely heavier than Loras' axe, and the Knight of Flowers had chosen to take advantage of this. He kept his distance, leading to Valaegor slashing through the air time and time again.

"You're not going to win by running from me all day." Valaegor taunted him, stepping back. "You're truly not going to attack me?"

"Didn't you say you were superior? Why is it that you can't hit me with a far longer weapon?" Loras tilted his head slightly.

"... Heh, if you want, we could make camp while our friends face each other."

"You didn't answer my question. Do you want to rely on your friends to save the day?" Ser Loras looked to the side and then back at him. "I'm beginning to believe you're not even half as good as you think."

"Valaegor!" Daman shouted while being assaulted by both Ser Arys and Ser Balon. He was doing a lot of blocking with his shield but not much more. "Either finish Ser Loras or aid me with these two."

"Tsk, fine." Valaegor sighed, shaking his head. "I'll show you the difference between a warrior and a boy who picks flowers."

He swung at Loras, pushing him to sidestep intentionally. He then turned his back on the knight and went to aid his comrade.

"Where are you going?"

"Babysitting."

Valaegor accelerated faster than Ser Loras could react, seemingly going right for Ser Arys' head. At the last moment, he shifted his angle and struck a great blow to his knee. The knight stumbled and took a blow in the head right after.

By the time Ser Loras caught up, Ser Arys had already fallen to the ground.

"Your knight in shining armour has arrived."

"On time, for once," Daman remarked, blocking Balon's morningstar with his shield before stepping behind Valaegor. "Let us switch opponents."

"You want me to handle this one too?" Valaegor chuckled, swinging his poleaxe at Balon and forcing him to block with his shield. "That's fine by me."

Ser Loras frowned with anger, feeling that he had failed his sworn brother by letting Valaegor get past him. Now, with Valaegor seemingly switching opponents, it looked like he would defeat Ser Balon and tip the tides of battle further. He had to best Daman before Valaegor defeated Ser Balon...

As he confronted the foreigner, he experienced his seemingly peerless defence firsthand. He clearly had no intentions of beating Ser Loras, stalling him, which made defeating him even more difficult.

Meanwhile, Brienne was evading Baegel's onslaught with the goal of tiring him. The unfortunate thing is, despite his wounds, the absolute unit didn't seem to tire at all. 

"Big woman annoying," Baegel remarked, shaking his head. "Fight back."

Brienne evaded his large mace once more, noticing that he had begun to swing a bit slower. She continued doing so, being completely untouched despite Baegel's best efforts. 

Then.... an opportunity presented itself.

As she sidestepped to the side of Baegel, she struck the back of his knee with her chain morningstar. The spiked ball had crashed against Baegel and noticeably damaged him as it was one of the few gaps in his armour. Baegel would retaliate with a mighty swing, which Brienne had to stumble back to dodge completely. She almost fell to the ground as a result.

Baegel surged forward and swung for her head, only to miss, stumble... and Brienne to counter with a blow to his right shoulder - where Edric's warhammer had landed only a day earlier. 

"Bitch-" 

Baegel tried to grab hold of her chain, but she dragged it back and smashed his hand with the spiked ball. However... Baegel persisted and proceeded to grab the ball - pulling her in with deadly force and aiming to smash his head against hers.

In the last moment, she let go of the morningstar, and Baegel only struck air. She would duck beneath Baegel and draw a dagger, going for the back of his other leg. The dagger easily pierced the gap in his armour, spilling the giant's blood. 

He groaned in pain, turning to swing on Brienne. To his irritation, she once again dodged him. With both of his joints shaking, he could hardly run without falling to the ground.

However, he held both main weapons while Brienne only had a dagger. So there was that.

"Big Baegel... too wounded. Big Baegel fighting like Little Baegel." Baegel took a deep breath, raising his collosal mace and...

Throwing it.

She raised an eyebrow, dodging it... while he followed up with another throw with chained morningstar from the other side.

With a great deal of focus, she managed to dodge that one as well... but Baegel had no intentions of hitting her with either.

He had sprinted at Brienne full force, tackling her to the ground, tossing away her dagger and wasting no time going for the head. She raised both hands to block him, feeling the great strength behind his punches. Even blocking hurt. 

'Attain victory at all costs!'

Edric's words echoed in her mind as she raised a knee to Baegel's groin.

"Argh..."

Dazed, Brienne overpowered Baegel and turned him over. She removed his helmet and started bashing his head, over and over again. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

It was only when Baegel showed a face of defeat that she stopped, slowly getting back on her feet. 

"Big Baegel tired..."

He closed his eyes and went straight to sleep.

The giant of a man even began snoring.

"..." 

Brienne took a deep breath, feeling a shaking in her arms. Baegel hadn't lost without leaving his mark, that was for certain. She grabbed her chained morningstar and surveyed the field of battle. 

Arthur was locked in combat, slashing apart Ballio's armour by targetting the harnesses. Ser Loras wasn't making much progress with Daman, while Valaegor was besting Ser Balon. As for the Hound, he was struggling with Gaegor's barrage. 

Ser Mandon had fallen to Raedor already, though he wounded him severely in their dance. Rhaerra's seventh representative was a mighty foe like his fellow comrades, surpassing the knight in almost every physical aspect... yet Ser Mandon showed great determination and hunger for victory. It was only when Raedor beat him unconscious that the knight lost. 

Brienne chose to intercept him before he could attack any unsuspecting member on her team.

With both teams losing two members, it was effectively a five-on-five. 

'That's my girl.' Edric smiled with a look of pride. He then glanced at Rhaerra with a confident grin. "The tides have shifted once more."

"Even a wounded Baegel is a fierce opponent. Your Brienne is full of surprises." Rhaerra didn't look angered at all. If anything, she shared his look of amusement. "In truth, I was far too eager to defeat you in the melee. If I had known better, Baegel would have fought her at his best."

"And you'd probably have my armour by now," Edric remarked, shrugging his shoulders. "It's too bad."

"This team battle is not at all lost yet, however. My best fighters are still on the tourney grounds."

"So are mine."

'Go on, Hound.' Edric thought to himself, looking in his direction. 'Show Gaygore that you have that dawg in you.'

Barbarian's Path To Multiversal Domination Chapter 12: A New Home

“Help… help, he's going to kill us a-”

Dennis dragged the girl by her hair right back into the classroom and tossed her through a window on the opposite side. The force behind it all left her paralysed in the backyard. He proceeded to murder the rest of the class with relative ease, alarming the surrounding classrooms with sounds of hopeless deaths.

One teacher immediately called the police while some brave yet foolish students wanted to investigate. When they slowly opened the door and took a glimpse, a flying vodka bottle bashed right across the first. 

“AHHHHHHH!”

The closest students screeched at the horrible sight.

BANG.

Dennis stormed out, breaking down the door.

“GOOOD MORNING!”

He was covered in blood like a crimson fiend from the depths of hell. His almost golden eyes flowed with rivers of killing intent. The mad grin across this face, which went from ear to ear, was one that the observers would never see again. Why? Because they're going to fucking die.

Left, right.

Dennis swung his arms around, knocking out everyone in his vicinity. Afterwards, he walked over to the gym hall while killing anyone who was near him along the way. When he did make it there, a class of individuals looked over with fear. 

A basketball bounced near his feet.

He looked down, picking it up. He held it in his palm before glancing at all the people staring at him. With a wide grin, he winded back his arm and tossed the basketball right at a student’s head.

Bang.

It smashed against his face, bouncing right up and back into Dennis’ hand.

“Huh.”

He looked with an amused expression.

Needless to say, he proceeded to give a dozen people brain damage while practicing his throwing.

…

Meanwhile, Grace was chilling on a couch while watching the chaos unfold with a large batch of popcorn. She had the TV on a live news channel alongside a projection through her new favorite ancient artifact, the Apple of Eden. The TV showed a dozen police cars rounding the college while the Apple’s projection showed Dennis murdering people indiscriminately with a pair of basketballs.

“Looks like you’re becoming pretty famous.”

Her phone suddenly rang, and she casually picked it up. It was none other than her older sister, Camilla.

“Did you see what’s happening in north London? It’s crazy.”

“Mhm.” Grace nonchalantly nodded, looking at her nails. “I’ll be sure to stay safe.”

“Isn’t it the college your boyfriend goes to?”

 “Sure is.”

“... Wait, isn’t that him?”

“Maybe.”

“How can you be so casual about it? He’s mass-murdering people in broad daylight!”

“Would midnight be a better time?” Grace chuckled, tilting her head slightly. “Big sis, you know so very little. How about you just watch the chaos unfold without bothering me with your pointless reactions, okay? Bye-bye.”

She hung up and continued watching.

…

“Wallahi, this bruddha is an absolute nutter “

Abdi, a student from the same college was recording an Instagram live from his phone. He was keeping his distance behind the surge of police. The comments were flooding in as the number of live viewers dramatically increased.

“You should get closer, I can't see shit.”

“Blud is going on a crazy killstreak. He might have enough for a nuke lol”

“It's a good day to be absent 💀”

Abdi glanced over, reading the first.

“Get closer? Bruv are you MAD. I'm not going in there to die.”

“Just say that you're a pussy 😿”

“Get in the cage you monkey 🐒”

“😸”

“Bro is pissing himself over a few steps”

“😸😸😸”

“😹”

A common trend of cat emojis flowed through the chat, clearly calling out Abdi for his tact. 

“I'm not trying to get in a bodybag innit. If anything, you lot are lucky I'm even here recording. I should be at home playing FIFA or some shit.”

“DIE… DIE… DIE… DIE… DIE… RED… BLOOD… DENNIS LOVIN’ IT!”

“Is that a fucking SWORD!?” 

Abdi looked over the crowd with his height. He saw Dennis with Blackfyre, murdering police left and right as they helplessly attempted to taze him or even fight back with batons. The tazers didn't do shit, while the batons did even less. Blackfyre cut right through them.

“Naah this is classic Britain hahahahaha.” 

“Go get a sword and duel him bro ⚔️ “

“In America, he would already have a hundred bullets inside of him.”

“Yeah this maniac wouldn't even be a problem.”

Several police officers approached the crowd, blocking the way and pushing them back.

“Move back, young man. Stop recording.”

“Nah, why don't you go and handle him.” A random student replied.

Meanwhile, the street was blocked with people and police cars to the point that no vehicle could pass. The number of honks per second was rapidly increasing, adding to the chaos. Police reinforcements had to arrive by foot, leaving their cars behind elsewhere. 

This meant that Dennis was absolutely feasting with hardly any resistance.

“Nah, I'm not dying for this shit.”

Abdi left Instagram as Dennis kept mowing through people and dipped from the scene.

Half an hour later…

Dennis had made the street look like it was right out of a nightmare. Slashed and torn bodies lined the entrance to the school and a pile had been made right outside. Empty cars littered the road, some abandoned while others suffeted a case of their driver having Valyrian Steel shoved through their throat.

A helicopter soared above with a cameraman and news reporter broadcasting live to the UK.

“Looks like a scene right out of a horror movie.” William, the reporter, looked on with a serious expression. “Over a hundred bodies, slashed, torn and bloodied with one fiend of a man seemingly responsible for it all with just a longsword in hand.”

“Is he even human?” His co-reporter questioned. “No normal man could do this.”

“That goes without saying, Fred. Even the most cruel and brutal serial killers would be terrified of this… thing. He has strength, no doubt, given his monstrous physique  - but his heart and mind have to be countless times more twisted. I doubt there is anything there but a black void.”

Dennis had heard the helicopter from a good distance away, staring at it for a few seconds. His ears blared with the irritating noise over and over again. Louder each time.

His expression turned to one of rage as he sped forward to the nearest building and climbed up with barbaric, gorilla-esque grace (pun unintended).

“Oh God, is he approaching us?”

Dennis leapt off the nearest tall building, trying to reach the helicopter. 

Unfortunately… he fell short. Very short, for that matter.

“Thank the Lord he can’t fly.”

Dennis went spiralling back to the ground in a fall that was over seventy feet. 

“BALERION!”