The Plot Thickens
PJO World
The Realm of Winter, Before the Winter Throne
The chill that travels down Aemon's spine upon hearing those words is one that seems to shake the Winter Realm to its very core.
"What the fuck did you just say?!" snarls Aemon, repeating his question to the Other once more.
"The Great Other cannot die for he has tied his very existence to the very realm of our people, the very realm you call the Heart of Winter." replies the Other.
The Heart of Winter, Aemon and the Bran of his original world had theorized its existence as the home of the Others. Bran had been the first to glimpse at it, a realm of nothing but ice and snow, a realm of winter, a realm in which the bodies of countless dreamers before Bran can be found impaled upon thousands of spires of ice rising up.
Aemon himself had merely glimpsed a portion of it during his final duel with the Great Other's champion, the Night's King. He had seen baleful eyes of ice suspended in the air above a great castle of ice mocking his defeat before the Night's King had pierced his heart with his sword of ice.
It was a theory to explain where the Other's came from, but Aemon had not expected it to truly exist.
"Do you mean to say that even with the Night's King defeated we would have lost the war regardless?" questions Aemon.
"Aye." replies the Other. "For the Great Other would have merely corrupted another being into becoming his champion and the cycle would continue. To defeat the Great Other, one would have to destroy the Heart of Winter."
"How?" asks Aemon.
"By—" the Other begins before abruptly stopping with a tilt of his head.
"What is it?" says Aemon with a frown.
"I do not know." answers the Other, causing Aemon's frown to deepen. "No, that is wrong. Rather than stating that I do not know, it would be more apt to say that I do not remember how to destroy the Heart of Winter. I know that I once knew, but now I do not." elaborates the other.
"What?" questions Aemon, his voice no louder than a whisper yet promising much violence.
"Something or someone has tampered with these memories." replies the Other.
"Is it within the Great Other's power to do so?" questions Aemon.
"…"
The Other's silence is damning enough, and Aemon cannot help the icy rage and horror that takes root within him upon receiving the answer.
Taking a deep breath, Aemon swallows his anger and fear and focuses on his current situation.
"We shall discuss this later. For now I need you to guide me through this ritual." Aemon tells the Other.
"Unfortunately I cannot." replies the Other. "Once again I do not recall that information." he says.
With another calming breath Aemon dismisses the Other, turning this attention to the situation ahead instead.
Without the Other's ritual for claiming and tying the Winter Throne to his lifeforce, Aemon must claim the Throne how it was meant to be claimed.
As such he opens himself up to the Winter Throne and allows its essence to enter his being, mingling with his metaphysical core as both a fey and whatever makes up his Targaryen half to question his being and character.
The change is sudden and with no warning, for one moment Aemon feels the Throne assessing and evaluating his being, and another he finds himself here; standing in a field of ice and snow with the blackest of sky overhead.
He lesser being would not have sensed it, but to Aemon it is obvious to him that there is another being present there with him.
"What is Winter?"
The being questions him.
"Winter is perseverance." Aemon answers, whether the voice accepts his answer Aemon thinks not, for gale force winds batters his being as soon as he utters those words. Still, Aemon remains steadfast.
"Winter is a harsh mistress, demanding and testing but not uncaring. Aye food is scarce but that is for those who do not know where to look nor how to prepare. Aye the cold is burning, but it teaches one to appreciate the warmth of summer. " Aemon continues, calming the wind.
"In truth, winter's harshness reveals one's character, for a man says a lot of things in summer he does not mean in winter; and it is for such reasons that summer friends will melt away like summer snows, but winter friends are friends forever. Most importantly however, winter is always coming." he adds, and as if satisfied by Aemon's words the wind dies down and the being spectating appears before Aemon, causing him to warily step back.
"Does my appearance offend you so?" asks the woman, her voice the sound of wind chimes.
"No, merely your resemblance to a being I once knew." replies Aemon, for the woman, fey in truth, could easily pass off as a corpse queen, the consort of the Night's King with her cold, white skin and eyes like blue stars.
"I am Mab, former Ruler of the Unseelie Court, and Queen of Winter." she says, introducing herself and with no prompting from himself Aemon finds his lips moving and his voice replying.
"Gwyn, scion of House Stark and House Targaryen, Lord Commander of the Wild Hunt, Ruler of the Unseelie Court and Heir to the Throne of Winter." he finds his voice saying, causing him to frown.
Seeing Aemon's expression, Mab allows herself an amused smile which reveals her perfect teeth and her longer than normal canines.
"It is a simple trick to coerce the target to speak the truth from the very depth of their beings. A simple trick I did not expect to work on my presumed heir." explains Mab before adding with a shrug "Then again, until recently you were not a fae and still to this day are ignorant of our ways."
Hearing Mab's words Aemon's eyes widen in shock before quickly narrowing as he unleashes his Conqueror's Haki upon Mab; and yet much to his surprise the former Queen of the Unseelie Court remains unphased.
"Do not be alarmed, for I am merely a remnant of Queen Mab's will and upon the completion of my task I shall fade as the Queen herself did." she says.
"And I am to trust you because?" questions Aemon with a raised eyebrow.
"Good, you learn quickly." replies Mab. "Now listen carefully, for I will not impart you with the knowledge of the ways of the Winter Court and the Unseelie Court."
…
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World of Westeros
The Narrow Sea, The Stepstones
106 AC
In and of themselves this small chain of rocky islands is worthless - however, the major sea lanes between the Narrow sea and the Summer Sea have to pass through the straits between the Stepstones, making them strategically very important.
All the sea trade to the east coast of Westeros and to five out of nine of the Free Cities has to pass through the Stepstones to reach the other major markets of the world. For that matter, most merchant ships hug the coasts instead of sailing out into the deep oceans, thus even shipping lanes going to and from the west coast of Westeros and the major, ancient ports of Oldtown and Lannisport also have to pass close by the Stepstones, putting them in striking range of any fleets stationed there.
More often than not the Stepstones are home to pirate fleets and the occasional self-proclaimed King of Pirates; for no singular faction would ever tempt to hold the Stepstones for themselves due to the high cost and the threat of all other world powers allying together to oust them from the Stepstones in a bloody war.
The last faction to truly hold dominion of those rocky isles was the Valyrian Freehold and their success in this, as with most of their other successes, can be attributed to their dragons. Since then none have ever truly held them, not Westeros and certainly not the Free Cities.
As such when the Triarchy, the alliance of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh, invaded the Stepstones in 96 AC to remove the pirate population the Seven Kingdoms were wary yet thankful.
Their wariness was proven justified and their thankfulness was turned to resentment quickly enough when the Triarchy began to impose exceedingly high tolls upon their ships while also seizing any ship which refused to pay the toll.
Corlys Velaryon, lord of House Velaryon famously known as the Sea Snake and former Master of Ships to King Viserys, felt the brunt of these attacks most keenly, for with his nine voyages around the world his house quickly became the foremost masters of trade through the known world.
It is he who brought the situation to Viserys' attention, and he who is the most affected every time Viserys' Hand, Otto Hightower, rejected his every call for action.
With his frustration mounting from every rejection, Corlys turns his attention to Prince Daemon for aid, and with the Prince launches a private war on the Triarchy for control over the Stepstones.
Or at least that is how events would turn out in a normal timeline.
In this timeline however, Dragonstone suffers an assault from the coalition of magic users congregating in Asshai.
The assault was easily thwarted by the combined efforts of Prince Daemon, Aegon, Jaehaerys, Rhaenys, and Daenerys. Unfortunately for them while none were killed in the attack the sorcerers accomplished their goal, retrieving a vial full of Targaryen blood.
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The Shire, Middle Earth
The Third Age
Bilbo Baggins is a simple hobbit. Born on September 22 by Shire Reckoning in the year 2890 of the Third Age, he is the only son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took.
In Hobbiton, his father, Bungo Baggins constructed a spacious and luxurious Hobbit-hole for Belladonna, which they named Bag End. The family moved to their new home, where Bilbo would spend much of his life.
As a young Hobbit, Bilbo was curious and eager for news of the outside world. The Istar wizard, Gandalf, took interest in this unusual quality in Bilbo during his visits to the Shire. He practiced his rock-throwing skills in his youth so much that birds and squirrels would flee the area whenever he bent down to pick up a rock.
When Bilbo's father and mother died in TA 2926 and TA 2934 respectively, Bilbo became his own master and spent the next seven years living alone in Bag End. During this time, Bilbo has grown quite fond of his life as a wealthy bachelor and has acquired himself a reputation for respectability that the neighbors admire.
Bilbo Baggins is a simple and respectable hobbit. He minds the business that is his, smokes his pipe, and appreciates the beautiful nature of the Shire.
It is why when an odd screen appeared before him welcoming him to something called the Dimensional Chat Group he ignored it. It is why when the other members of the so called chat group began to communicate he ignored it save perhaps for the occasional glance where he would receive his daily life, for who would believe a man claiming to hail from a royal family of dragon riders, or a young man claiming to be a vampire, much less the young woman who claims to captain a ship that sails through the stars.
Utter rubbish and as a respectable hobbit it would behoove him to entertain such madness.
So then why does he sit here, in his messy house, staring at this contract, contemplating accepting that wizard's madness?
As a respectable hobbit the proper thing to do would be to tear the contract appart and to never give it a second thought. Yet, for reasons unknown to Bilbo, he cannot bring himself to do so. It feels that if he were to do so he would regret it for the rest of his respectable hobbit life.
And so with a sigh to take in the smoke of his pipe and a sigh to release it Bilbo grabs the contract and rushes out of his door with his pack.
Author's Note: Here's the latest chapter. As usual, tell me what you guys think. If you want you can support me on my patreon at: patreon.com/servantambrosius