Chapter II. New collection of the swords.

Westeros, Dorne

Neferion

They left Starfall early in the morning on the White Star, a ship commanded by Captain Dorian, a cheerful and honest sea dog. In addition to him and Aleric, fifty four of Ulric's best men accompanied them, and during the trip, they, and the crew, threw him looks of curiosity and little anxiety. Since he didn't wear a helmet, he assumed that his look was startling. People often feared what was different from them.

"You'll have to get used to these kinds of curious or fearfull glances." Sword of the Morning interrupted his thoughts as he approached him and stopped at the ship's bow.

"Believe me." Dovahkiin replied with a small smile, glancing at the horizon. "I've grown accustomed to these types of glances. In my land, I was a well-known figure. Respected by many but feared by many more."

Alerik gazed at him with intrigue in his eyes. "I suppose you're a famous warrior in your home, even though we haven't had the chance to test ourselves in combat yet. However, your motions, stance, and overall appearance indicate remarkable experience."

Neferion smirked and returned his gaze to the knight. He had the same blond hair and purple eyes as his older brother, but his facial features were sharper. He was also taller than Lord Dayne and more broad-shouldered. A badly healed scar crossed the right side of his face from the forehead to the chin, passing his eye by a hair's breadth.

"Tell me more about your sword and title. Sword of the Morning. What's its origin?" He inquired, changing the subject, but to be honest, he was genuinely intrigued because there had to be a great tale behind it. Dawn, according to young Vorian, has been in their family for ten thousand years. His curiosity rose exponentially as he considered the history that this blade carried.

"I know you spoke to my nephew. How much did he tell you?" the man asked.

"Not much," he answered, "only that the founder of your House followed a falling star, and when he found it on an island in the mouth of the Torentine River, he built Starfall in its place, and from the heart of the star he forged a sword." He summed up what he knew.

Alerik cast a peek at him from the corner of his eye before pulling his sword from its sheath. The milky blade glimmered in the sunlight. After a brief hesitation, he handed him the Dawn.

Neferion held it in his hand and couldn't help but admire its beauty and craftsmanship. He wasn't sure what it was made of, but it couldn't have been regular metal, especially since the blade appeared to be made rather of crystal.

"Beautiful and light. Masterful work, but I can't tell what material it is," he remarked, returning the blade to its owner.

"The Sword of the Morning is a title given to a knight of House Dayne worthy of wielding Dawn. And unlike the other Houses of Westeros, the sword is not passed down from father to son. Only the best of each generation can achieve this honor. and it has been that way for 10,000 years since the Age of Heroes. This sword is the dream of every boy bearing the name Dayne," the Dornishman was seething with pride and joy as he spoke.

"From what I have read in your library, the First Man could only craft weapons and armor from bronze. How was your ancestor able to craft a blade not only from an unknown material but one that had survived intact for 10 millennia?" he asked, his voice carrying traces of disbelief.

Alerik fell silent, probably wondering how to answer that question. After a moment, he said thoughtfully, "I can't say with certainty, but my great-grandfather's brother, Albard, who was an Archmaester, had a theory on this subject. Namely, back in the Dawn Age and later in the Age of Heroes, there was a powerful empire in the East, about which little is known. It was called the Great Empire of the Dawn. A powerful civilization. Albard believed that the our ancestors came from that place. And that's where they knew advanced methods of weapon processing, and that's where the sword's name came from."

"Indeed. The similarity of names is surprising." He acknowledged, staring at Dawn, who was hidden in the sheath. "It could be a coincidence of course, but the quality and longevity of the blade itself is intriguing."

His gaze was caught by the sight of a small port city rising from a small peninsula on the left coast of the bay. "Oh, are we there?" He asked.

"Yes. That is Redcape." Alerik agreed, also looking at their destination. "We are almost there. After we dock, we'll go visit my cousin Edran, who rules the town in Urilk's name."

"Let's see what he has to say. I hope he can tell us something about these Ironborn." He responded and added, "I'm itching to kill some pirate scum."

"True. Me, too. Few things are worse than the Ironborn, probably only those fucking Reach lords." Sword of the Morning confessed, strengthening his grip on his famed sword's hilt.

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Alerik

When they reached the shore, they found his cousin strolling along the docks. He also told them that Ironborn longboats were becoming more common near the harbour. Even two or three times a day. They even ventured within a few hundred metres from the docks. So he and Neferion found themselves on one of the harbour's piers, sitting on crates and keeping an eye out for their distinctive boats.

While they were waiting, he tried to learn more about his taciturn companion, but the man only answered briefly and changed the subject whenever he asked where exactly he came from. From what he could gather, the man couldn't be from Essos, not even from the lands beyond the Bone Mountains. He wasn't from Leng, as his height and golden eyes might suggest. Neferion eyes were more like those of a reptile or a cat with his vertical pupils. And those pointed ears didn't match any race he'd heard of.

In addition, there was something dangerous about him that he couldn't really name. Years of training and numerous fights with bandits or lords of the Stormlands and Reach had sharpened his senses and given him experience that allowed him to tell if someone posed a threat to him. He believed that at this moment he was one of the best swordsmen in the world. However, this stranger from distant lands made all his instincts scream of danger. Only once before had he experienced a similar feeling, although not on such a scale. When he and Ulrik went to Pentos for trade, they encountered one of the Dragonlords of Valyria visiting the city. The massive green beast that man rode instilled a deep fear in him.

But he reflected on his companion's background. If Essos is not an option, Sothoryos or the Sunset Sea are. How could he explain why the man had appeared in the Starfall area, seeking refuge, when there were so many other locations he could have gone to first? If he had traveled from the West, Oldtown or Lannisport would be closer. If coming from the East, there were other alternatives even in Dorne, Sunspear for example. There were far too many inconsistencies in his story.

"It must be them", Neferion's booming voice jolted him from his reverie. He concentrated his sight on the calm waters around the coast, but he saw no ships.

"I cannot see anything. You must have imagined something," he said, straining his eyes.

His companion chuckled lightly and responded, "They're approaching from the left down the coast. Three boats. White sails, with a white bone hand on a red shield. You should see them soon."

He looked at him in disbelief, but after looking at his interlocutor's odd eyes, he concluded that he may actually have far better eyesight than himself. So he opted not to comment and instead waited patiently. Indeed, after about a quarter of an hour, he observed shapes appearing on the horizon, becoming more distinct with each passing moment. They eventually came to a standstill a little more than half a mile from the port. "House Drumm. You were correct." Alerik admitted, glancing at the 'armored giant' sitting beside him.

"I take it they won't come any closer?" The man inquired, standing up.

"I don't think so, since they've been doing the same thing for weeks," he said, rising to his feet.

"The boat on the right appears to be larger than the rest, and on its deck sits a man clad in finer armor than others and carrying an exquisite sword hilt at his waist. The same sign found on the sails can be seen on his chest. It's conceivable he is the commander." Neferion said, then picked up the helmet lying next to him.

Aleric stared at his companion, surprised, and asked, "Does this man have any burn marks on the left side of his face?"

"Indeed. From his forehead to his jawline. Badly healed."

"So you were correct that it was someone important. It's Harland Drumm. One of the lords of the Iron Islands," he revealed.

"Hmm. So he must know the information we require, or maybe be the mastermind of this entire thing, correct?"

"Probably," he admitted, unsure of his point.

"Good. The other two ships are unnecessary then," he said, walking to the end of the pier. Then he turned his head and looked at him with a smirk, "You wanted to know more about me, so I'll reveal a little. Your world has never seen someone like me, but don't be afraid." With each word Neferion spoke, it seemed as if his voice was getting deeper, more intense, carrying with it a rumbling echo. Before he could properly process his words, the man turned his head back towards the sea and opened his mouth.

"Wuld Nah Kest" (Whirlwind, Fury, Tempest).

The earth shook, the heavens trembled, and a powerful thunderclap ripped through the air. Neferion flew through the air like an arrow from a bow and landed a more than thousand feet away amid the largest longboat, which started to break into small bits as a result of the impact of his landing.

Another booming, earth-shaking scream tore him from his shock.

"Fo Krah Dinn " (Frost, Cold, Freeze)

Then everything was covered in white and a horrible cold that the lands of Dorne had not experienced since the Long Night itself. A large column of frigid air, snow, and who knows what else surged towards remaining two boats. In the blink of an eye, it reached them and converted them into freezing forms, while the sea around them has been icebound.. The third ship, while not immediately damaged, became partially stuck in the ice.

Alerik stared in amazement, not believing what he had just seen. His mind screamed that it was impossible. It had to be magic, but on a scale he had never heard of. Hell, he doubted the Valyrians themselves had seen anything like it. It was closer to divine power than human's, even with the help of magic. He had read legends about how the Children of the Forest had shattered the Arm of Dorne millennia ago, but hearing and seeing something on such grand scale was incomparable. This stranger who had spent several days in his home had just frozen portion of the sea.

After a few minutes, his eyes caught sight of the armoured silhouette of a sorcerer, or perhaps a living god, walking towards the shore on the ice, dragging a figure with him. The pirates trailed him closely, their motions marked by terror.

When they were just a dozen feet from the crowded dock, Neferion paused and dumped Harland Drumm's injured form at his feet, reaching out to him with a sheathed, decorative blade.

"Check out this nice sword I have found. Maybe I'll begin collecting these Valyrian blades from now on," he said with a predatory smile.

********************************************

Neferion

Once he had the information he needed, he used the Whirlwind Sprint shout, thus bridging the distance between him and his target. With tremendous momentum, he hit the deck of the longboat, miraculously not sinking it. Shouts of surprise and anger rang out around him, mingled with the groans of the wounded, hit by shards of wood.

Without hesitation, he used his Frost Breath to disable the other ships, causing the surrounding pirates to gasp in fear and hesitation. He did not hesitate. In a fraction of a second, he was already at the nearest ironborn, and with a punch of his fist, he shattered his chest, practically knocking him into the deck. Still in motion, with his left hand, he grabbed the head of another and crushed it effortlessly.

A few of the braver, or dumber, men rushed at him with drawn weapons, but before they could take a few steps, he jumped at the first of them and, with a kick to the stomach, launched him, along with two others standing in the way, 30 metres overboard. Then, in a fluid motion, he pierced another through and through, holding his heart in his clenched hand. If his opponents had been terrified before, now they felt real dread.

Almost all of them, without exception, dropped the weapon they were holding and fell to their knees, babbling something about their drowned god. He, with a calm stride, approached Harland, who was the only one standing as if he had been built into the deck, desperately clutching the hilt of a beautiful scarlet sword. He stared in horror at Dovahkiin, who stopped in front of him, towering over him by almost half a metre.

"Ven" (Wind).

 The word of the Force carried through the air like a soft whisper, mussing the ear. A sudden whirlwind swept across the deck of the boat, and a red blade of Valyrian steel tore from the Ironborn captain's hand and landed neatly in his palm. Neferion looked at it intently. He had read about the exceptional quality of the dragonsteel and had to admit that the sword was impressive even to him. At that moment, his dragon nature spoke to him, manifesting itself in his mania for collecting artefacts and exceptional objects.

"A truly magnificent blade. I don't suppose you'd mind if I took it for myself?" he asked, but his tone and the strength of his voice left no doubt that it was a rhetorical question. "It will look nice next to the relics of those imbeciles from Oblivion."

********************************************

Neferion

Several long hours later, they found themselves in one of the town's best taverns, sitting in the corner, while the rest of the regulars were grouped altogether on the opposite side, casting him glances every now and then that mixed dread and amazement. He had also heard the titles used in sweat since the events. Champion of the Seven. Warrior Incarnate. Sorceress. Warlock. Ironborn's Bane.

It spread like wildfire across the town and soon most likely, the surrounding villages from that point forward. Furthermore, a frozen section of the sea, served as a testament to his strength, and he doubted it would melt anytime soon. Why did he do it in such a public way? And, why not? Why would he be hiding? He was Dovah. This exhibition of power was both an affirmation of his presence and a challenge to the beings who, he was certain, had sensed his arrival in this world, just as he had sensed their presence.

Hiding or keeping his head down went against his nature. Could he reach and fight the pirates without using Thuum? Of course. But did he want to? Absolutely not. His mer nature made him feel compassion for the weak and innocent, as he himself was once in their position, while his dragon nature desired domination and a display of might. Recognition and adoration. Worship and obedience. Because who else deserved it? No one.

Sigh. He got carried away again. In any case, the past several hours have been interesting. The Ironborn were so afraid that they sang along, including Harland, from whom he had taken that lovely ruby sword. Red Rain, as Alerik had dubbed it. Valyrian steel. He had to confess that these Valyrians impressed him, despite the fact that they were already on his blacklist. Slavery and magic based on blood sacrifices? Necromancers and vampires from Tamriel could claim that he was not an enthusiast of such things. Or, more accurately, they could if they were still alive.

Where did he end? Ah, the Ironborn. Yes. He learnt a lot of intriguing information, including the fact that they were intending to attack Redcape. However, that was not their only purpose; it was part of a far wider operation that had been planned for moons. The Ironborn intended to attack both Dorne's primary port towns and Sunspear itself.

Less than two years earlier, the Dorne fleet had suffered a crushing defeat by the Redwyne of the Kingdom of Reach, the same ones who had repelled the Ironborn attack many moons ago. Two-thirds of their ships had been lost. The fleet was currently being rebuilt, but that would take time. Dorne was a fresh and ripe fruit at this point, ready to be plucked.

The whole situation was the perfect moment for him to gain the recognition and gratitude of the whole kingdom by doing what he liked and what he was really good at, eradicating 'vermin'.

With these thoughts, he focused his gaze on his companion, who was staring thoughtfully at the mug of ale lying on the table in front of him. Alerik had been in this position for almost fifteen minutes while he slowly sipped the wine, waiting.

"So? No questions? You just wanted to talk," he finally blurted spoke, bored. Alerik looked at him with a mixture of caution and amazement.

"I don't know what to say, and I don't know if I have the right to ask someone who could blow my life out like a candle flame."

Neferion smiled slightly, trying to relax him, "Since I'm here, it means I agreed to talk. Ask questions. You're an honourable, good man. And I like you. You have nothing to fear from me."

The knight took a deep breath, calming down a bit. He took a solid sip of the ale and looked at him carefully. "What or who are you anyway? A god, a demon, or something else entirely?"

He stared at his interlocutor for a moment, then said, "More like a demi-god, although it's hard to find the right term. The truth is that I did not arrive in Dorne by any ship, but by magic. I fought with my eldest brother and, by coincidence, ended up here. I can say with certainty, however, that no one else from my lands should end up here, nor does anyone from here stand a chance of getting there. It is impossible to fully reconstruct how I got here. You can rest assured." he confessed, trying to explain his origins in the simplest way possible.

Alerik stared at him, dumbfounded. After a moment, he sighed and said with resignation, "Your words sound like the ramblings of a madman, but after what I've seen earlier, nothing surprises me anymore. So your world is somewhere far away, where you can't reach it by normal means, right? And this power, the magic you used, is common in your lands?"

"Not exactly. Magic is rather common and generally accepted. There are many practitioners. However, the power I used is a higher sort of magic, far more powerful, and very few people can wield it, and no one as easily as I do. This sort of magic is known as Thuum, the Voice. Perhaps someday I'll tell you more about my homeland and myself. Right now, we have more essential issues to discuss." He finished, leaving no room for further discussion.

He then looked at the knight. Aleric sat in silence, his mind likely racing with ideas. He was not surprised at all. If he told this to someone on Nirn, it would be an easy story to believe. However, in this world, magic is limited to specific aspects, such as Valyrian blood magic or Asshai's shadowbinders. It is darker in nature and offers nothing without a proper sacrifice. To get anything, you have to give something. Whether it's blood, life, mind, or soul. As far as he could tell, Westeros was an exception. The Faith of the Seven forbids any magic, therefore aristocrats and commoners alike are raised to despise it from birth.

He intended to visit Oldtown and the Citadel, as well as Starry Sept, to learn more about the existing religions and beliefs. But there will be time for that.

Alerik's voice interrupted his thoughts: "I need to sort out everything you told me. We bring Harland to Starfall to decide what to do about the Ironborn. They will most likely revise their plans after Harland has been captured and…"

"Maybe if I weren't here, it would be a good idea, but I am, and we have an advantage. We must strike immediately, before the enemy realises it." Neferion interrupted, reaching into his magical bag and pulling out a detailed map of Westeros, which he took from Starfall.

Alerik frowned at the sight. "Isn't that the map from my brother's study?"

" Yes. I came to the conclusion that we would make better use of it than Ulrik." he said, winking at him with a smirk.

"Look at this," he said, pointing to a location on Dorne's southern coast between Sandstone and Hellholt. "According to what Harland told us, there is a well-hidden bay here that the Ironborn have used in the past. That is where they are gathering their forces, which makes sense because an attack of this scale would be ineffective if launched directly from the Iron Islands. And that is where I intend to go… alone, while you report to Ulrik."

Alerik studied the map for a time before looking at him sceptically. "I have witnessed your magical abilities, but are you confident you can handle such a force? We may presume that there will be dozens of longboats and thousands of Ironborn. "You're not immortal..." He tilted his head as if thinking, then frowned at him. "Because you are not, are you?" he enquired.

Neferion, seeing his expression, couldn't help but laugh, eliciting uneasy looks from the tavern's regulars. "No, I am not," he answered. "Only long-lived. And indeed, I am weakened at the moment, but what you saw is merely part of my true power."

The man tilted his head, questioningly. "Weakened. By what?"

"Your World. This world was not pleased with my entrance and attempted to banish me from it. Of course it failed, but it still ties and attacks me, and the fight against it requires the majority of my strength, both physical, mental, and spiritual," he said with a sigh. He felt his blood boil merely while thinking about what had happened.

"Is there something we can do about it?"

" It's nothing you can help me with. The only method I am confident of is to kill the gods of this world. Probably not all of them, but a few for certain."

The knight, who had been taking a sip of ale, choked upon hearing that. Then he gazed at him like he had a second head. "Are you serious? Kill the Gods? I hope no Septon hears you."

Neferion simply waved his hand dismissively. "I'm not afraid of the gods and even less so of their priests. Anyway, back to the topic of our talk. Even in my current state, I am capable of dealing with pirates. It will simply take additional effort. Furthermore, I already have the outlines of a strategy in my mind. Thuum may be extremely versatile in the proper hands. It isn't merely for displaying sheer power. It can be more subtle."

 "More subtle? In what sense?"

"You'll see. Tomorrow. I suggest you get some sleep and rest, and in the morning we'll meet at the building where the Ironborn are kept. Sleep well." With those words he stood up, finished his wine and went upstairs, where they had rented rooms.

***************************************

Essos, Valyria

Silence filled the enormous chamber, which had been adorned with gold and dragon bones. Dragon symbols and silhouettes appeared everywhere you looked. They were the most common theme in sculptures, paintings, and tapestries. In the centre stood a great, round, massive table made of black stone, surrounded by twelve chairs, or rather thrones made of the same material.

Furthermore, the large map hanging on one of the walls stood out due to its meticulous craftsmanship. It depicted the continents of Westeros and Essos in all their magnificence, as well as a major portion of Sothoryos and Ulthos in stunning detail. Every city, town, castle, and fort were marked on it. As were forests, rivers, lakes, mountains, and so on. The majority of the Citadel's maesters would give up any portion of their body to merely look at it. Particularly the regions of the two southern continents.

The peace reigning in the chamber was interrupted by the sound of a weirwood door being opened with force. Four men entered in a hurry. Each of them had silver-gold hair and eyes in various shades of purple. They were all dressed in luxurious robes, although they were not very ostentatious. The man leading the way sat down on one of the thrones with visible irritation, then reached for the carafe of wine lying on the table, pouring himself a full goblet.

"Taemon, my friend. What was so vital that you rushed us here? Especially considering our meeting is scheduled for tomorrow. I still have a lot of things to do today. So?" He enquired with a heavy sigh, glancing at his exceedingly tall interlocutor, who had taken one of the empty seats.

"Trust me, Vaegon. I have many places I'd rather be right now, but I have some worrying information that may, and most likely will, threaten Freehold." The other lord replied irritably, his gaunt face and haggard eyes indicating a lack of sleep and proper meals.

Vaegon immediately became serious, being aware that his fellow lord does not like to throw words to the wind. If he thought there was a threat, it had to be so. Even if he couldn't think of anything that could threaten Valyria at the moment. Unless some magical phenomenon or their cruel god.

'Speak then. What is it?' he urged.

"Something or someone arrived in the West. And by arrived, I mean that something entered our world from outside." The Grand Sorcerer started, slumping back on one of the thrones, relieved.

"At first, we assumed it was the damned Raven and his gods or that drowned abomination. But now we are certain it is something from outside. And it's something powerful. The fluctuations in magic we felt were our world's attempt to contain the uninvited guest." he explained, but one could sense a defensive note in his tone.

"Since the threat still exists, can we guess that the attempt to stop the newcomer has failed?" asked Tyris, the tall and veiny patriarch of House Vael, while his blue eyes watched Taemon Faerus closely and his mind analysed all the possible implications of such a development.

"No. Or at least not entirely," replied the sorcerer, shaking his head with a sigh. "The newcomer's presence is much weaker than it was at first, so we can assume that his strength has been reduced in some way, but by how much and for how long, I am unable to say. He is still powerful enough, however, that we are unable to see him with the glass candles."

"We know what it could be?! Some god, a monster?!" interjected Laemeron Belaerys angrily. "We must in any case eradicate it! Nothing can threaten the stability of Freehold and our dominance!" With every word, evidently, his temper grew, as did his voice. His low, stocky figure shook in visible fury.

"Calm down." Tyris said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ?This is not the time, nor the place, to act mindlessly in emotion. This situation is too reminiscent of the one four centuries ago. We cannot underestimate something on 'His' scale. Our ancestors made that mistake and lost dozens of dragons and their riders."

"Exactly," nodded Vaegon. "We must be patient and have a good understanding of the situation. This will be your task, Taemon, yours and that of the Arcane Council. I will also activate our spies in Westeros. That's where the uninvited guest must have ended up. Nothing can be hidden from us in Essos. Already some rumours would have reached us. I don't believe that an entity capable of interacting with magic on such a scale was just quietly hiding somewhere."

"That's a good plan for now, but I have two more suggestions. Let's pick a few or more riders and send them out on patrol, instructing them to be particularly on the lookout for unnatural phenomena. Second, Vaegon and I will go to the heart to meet with 'Him'. I'm sure He'll know something." Tyris suggested it, to which the others nodded, but Vaegon's face twisted into a grimace before he stated, "Even if He does know something, I doubt He'll just give us the information. More likely, he'll just eat us."