Chapter IV. Staff of mad god.

Westeros, The south coast of Dorne

Ulrik Dayne

Ulrik honestly didn't know what he expected to find in the hidden bay as they sailed out of Starfall. But not this. From their first meeting, he knew that the stranger he had taken in was no ordinary individual. Apart from the fact that he was not human, or at least not fully human, his very presence was unique. He carried with him an authority of power, not derived from birth but from strength.

When Alarik returned alone, with only few people, he feared that something bad had happened. And overall, he was right. For the news of the planned invasion, although he had expected something from the Ironborn, were depressing. However, nothing could have prepared him for the news of Neferion's magical powers and his plan to confront the enemy fleet alone.

His thoughts stopped at the sorcerer's extraordinary abilities. To summon an icy blast capable of freezing a chunk of the sea or to leap hundreds of feet without any harm was one thing, but to be able to bend someone's will to his own, in addition effortlessly, was frightening.

Without thinking long, he wrote to Princess Nymeria with details of the situation that had arisen and then set off with Alaric at the head of three ships in Neferion's footsteps. He wondered just what else this one was hiding from them. According to his brother, that one was extremely confident that he could handle the Ironborn fleet.

Looking at the remains of the longboats drifting in the bay and scattered on the shore and the swollen corpses on which the birds had already begun to feed, he knew that the man was not arrogant but simply knew his capabilities.

"Such devastation. How can there be a being possessing such power?" asked his brother, standing next to him on the deck. 'What good are armies for, when one man can do the same thing?'

"One man or one dragon, of which the Valyrians have hundreds. And I don't know what's stopping them from sending them out to conquer Westeros." replied Ulrik, his mind was filled with images of the mighty Valyrian beasts he had seen in Pentos or Tyrosh.

"This is very different," denied the Sword of the Morning, then sighed. "Some of their dragons are the size of a castle or larger and breathe fire hotter than any forge. You have not been there and seen what I have, brother. His presence, as he uses his powers, seems as massive as a mountain, and that magic of his, when he utters spells, makes the ground shake and the very air tremble. And now this."

Ulrik looked at his brother with understanding. He actually felt exactly the same himself. The same powerlessness in the face of something incomprehensible. There was one thing in particular that did not give him peace. Neferion told Alerik that he had been severely weakened when he arrived in our lands.

'If this is something he is capable of when he is 'weak', then what would he be capable of when he is at full strength? Would he be able to challenge the dragons and their masters? Face the gods themselves?' he asked, more to himself, but Alerik heard him.

'I do not know. What I do know, however, is that regardless, we should do everything we can to stay in his good graces. He seems to have his heart in the right place after all.' He replied in a slightly more cheerful tone.

Ulrik took one last look at the bay and said, 'There is no point in spending any more time here. We sail further east; maybe we can catch up with our friend.'

'Or at least leave us a couple of Ironborn.' Added Alerik with a small smile. 'Dawn would like to taste the blood of those who dare to invade our homeland.'

'It doesn't show us in a good light when a foreign outsider does all the work for us.'

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

Dorne, Somewhere east of the Salt Shore

Neferion

Neferion watched with interest as chaos unfolded on the two Ironborn longships that floated on the water, where a veritable frenzy was taking place on their decks. Terrified shouts erupted from the people, accompanied by the angry roars of various animals. He looked at the staff he held in his hand, then at the ships, and once more at the staff, wrinkling his eyebrows in thought.

"It must be the influence of the magic of this world," he muttered to himself. "Typically, the transformation was restricted to dremoras, chickens, rabbits, and mud crabs. Here, however, it apparently summoned a different set of creatures," he added, seeing a large bear tearing apart the pirates aboard one of the ships. The rest had long since thrown themselves into the water.

He cast a glance at the other ship, where the situation appeared to have calmed down after the earlier incident in which one of the pirates had transformed into a reptile moving on two legs, approximately six feet tall, with unusually long claws on its legs.

As an experiment, he used the Wabbajack once more, but the target disintegrated. "For Akatosh's sake."

With a sigh, he aimed once more, and this time the effect was both satisfactory and surprising. In place of one of the Ironborn, there appeared a large, hairy giant with grey hair, measuring at least twelve feet. The deck of the ship began to crackle ominously beneath him, and the hull plunged perilously deep.

"Hmh. So giants do indeed exist. At least I have gleaned an intriguing piece of information from this encounter."

Within mere seconds, under the fury of a giant, the boat sank to the bottom.

Turning, he looked at Harland Drumm and his men standing behind him on the deck, who were watching it all with awe and adoration in their eyes. No sign of surprise or fear, but that's what he might have expected. It had been several days since he had left the bay where he had slaughtered the entire fleet of ironborn, during which he had dealt with another thirty or so longships.

His current target was Blodestone, the largest of the Stepstones chain of islands, where 70-80 enemy longships under Prince Qhorwyn Hoare, son of Qhorin, were expected to gather to strike directly at Sunspear and Shadow City.

In addition to the Ironborn themselves, according to Lord Ralf Kenning, captured the day before, who had just sailed with news from the prince to Qhorin himself, several of the largest pirate lords from the Stepstones itself at the head of another 60 ships are to take part in the attack. A total of around 10,000 men.

Was this a sufficient force to take a well-defended town and fortress? In his opinion, absolutely no. However, the Stepstones lords were supposed to have had their men in the city for months, ready to sabotage the fortifications, including opening the gates and killing the guards.

"I only can hope that the prince does not decide to attack without his father's orders. It would be troublesome," he mumbled, then yawned loudly.

"Boys, shoot the remaining ones, and then we'll sail on. I'm going to sleep, so if we encounter any more, just wake me up." He ordered.

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

Essos, Valyria

Alduin

The vast space of the chamber, shaped from a volcanic cave, was filled only by the sound of his anxious breathing. Four centuries of waiting. Four centuries of hoping that his opponent would hit the same spot sooner or later. Despite the passage of years, he did not lost hope.

He had ruled Valyria for hundreds of years, although he did not really meddle in the games of these so-called Forty Families of the Dragon Lords, as he was not interested in the problems of mortals.

At first, of course, he was badly injured; in addition, the Will of this World objected to his staying here and seriously weakened him. Decades passed before he returned to full strength. Could he then conquer the rest of the world? Probably. Could he have killed those ridiculous gods? He was sure of it.

What a challenge they presented to him, however. After his many clashes with Dovakiin, especially in Sovngarde, where the latter defeated him using that powerful scream, probably created by himself, he no longer felt the excitement he had felt when dominating mortal races. Experiencing a fight with someone equally powerful, he craved more and more.

Thousands of times he had experienced these duels in his dreams again and again. And now the longed-for time had come. He felt, of course, that Dovahkiin was weakened in the same way he had been so many centuries ago, so he would give him some more time to adapt.

What he craved was not a fight against a weakened opponent but a Thu'um versus Thu'um clash. The two most powerful Dovah. This fight would be legendary. A duel that would shake the whole world. It was his dream, his goal, his deepest desire.

But that didn't change the fact that he was eager to see how these Valyrian worms would fare against the real Dovah. They'd be a good warm-up, the same for these ridiculous idols whose Aedras and Daedras would eat them for breakfast.

Turning his head towards a door made of Valyrian steel in the far corner of the hall, he opened one eye and waited, sensing the presence of people heading towards him.

A few minutes passed before the door creaked slightly, having not been opened for several years now. Two men with Valyrian features stepped through them, trying to hide the emotions bubbling up inside them, but he could well sense the stench of fear. An integral part of his encounters with Freehold leaders.

"Ah. Guests. What a surprise," he began, and his voice echoed throughout the hall. The Valyrians visibly shuddered in surprise at his voice, which carried an unusual weight. After his words, there was a distinct silence.

With satisfaction, he let the air out through his nostrils and commanded, "What are you looking for here? TINVAAK JOOR."(Speak mortals)

The air vibrated, and the ground shook from the power of the dragon's tongue. The two lords immediately fell to their knees, fearing for their lives, not understanding what his words spoken in Dovahzul meant.

He, meanwhile, rejoiced with his eyes at their humiliation. He remembered well the arrogance of their ancestors, which he had extinguished with the might of his Thu'um.

"Say what you come with," he demanded after a while, this time in their tongue, intrigued as to why they felt it was so vital to come and face such shame.

After a few seconds, the first of them rose and took a few tentative steps forward. Vaegnar? If he remembers correctly. Vaekar, perhaps? Wasn't that the one with the odd eye, whom I believe I killed a few decades ago? I believe that it's Vaegar. The current Archon? Yes, indeed. He came here a few years ago to request authorisation for a planned eastward extension.

'Which I believe I forbade him to do?' He squinted in enjoyment, and the two lords' hearts nearly stopped, believing they had offended a terrifying beast with something.

'No. I believe I commanded him to return in a few years. Or decades? Grrrr. It's pointless.'

"O Alduin, Our Merciful Lord, Great Divine Dragon." We come to you seeking counsel, O Most Wise One, in these difficult time's. Said the archon with his head lowered, not daring to raise his eyes to his majesty. And rightly so. He knows his place.

"And what are these difficult times, JOOR (mortal)?..." he asked with false curiosity.

"We have been informed by the Arcane Council of the arrival of a powerful being to our world from outside somewhere in the west, probably in Westeros," the archon replied. Alduin had to admit that his voice did not even tremble.

The firstborn of Akatosh looked at the other man, drawing in air loudly with his nostrils, then spoke, "Perhaps the Grand Sorcerer himself will tell me of this new threat."

"Yes, of course, Your Magnificence," replied the Lord of House Fearus, summoned to speak. "It is an honour that you recognise me, O Magnificent One."

"Of course I recognised you, fool. You reek of your blood magic for miles." Alduin growled at him, causing him to step back horrified that he had angered the dragon.

"Forgive me, O Great One." He apologised in a trembling voice. "Let me tell you what we know."

"Speak," he commanded, with irritation evident in his voice.

"We suppose it is someone who came to our world in a similar way to you, O Divine. We are also trying ..."

"Enough." He was interrupted by an exasperated World Eater. "In summary, you know absolutely nothing. You are flitting about like children in a fog."

Alduin rose from his reclining position and perched on his hind legs, towering over the men by two hundred feet, causing their legs to tremble involuntarily and shivers to travel along their spines.

"Let me tell you about the person you wish to face. Of the mortal with Dovah's soul, who has killed and devoured so many of my brothers that he has broken free from the shackles of mortality. Dovahkiin."

"He even terrified the Daedric Princes and killed a few of them. The actual gods. Above all, he is the only one who is equal to me. My destined foe. One of us will die at the hands of another. Now, do you fools realise who you are dealing with?" 

Seeing their horrified faces, he couldn't hold back the laughter that came out of his maw like thunder. Good. Mortals should feel awe and terror towards the dovah. It is the natural order of things.

"Know my generosity, however. I will give you help. I will send some of my priests against him under the leadership of Ahzidal. You, on the other hand, will bring a dozen of your best horsemen and their flying lizards. I will give them my blessing. Now go away."

They merely bowed and hurriedly left the chamber, not wishing to anger him further.

Silence fell again in the chamber, which, after a while, was broken by the sound of many pairs of feet. Soon several figures dressed in black robes emerged from the shadows, each wearing a mask made of a different material on their face, the details differing slightly.

"Have you heard what you have to do? Under no circumstances risk an open confrontation; use cunning and other means. I do not expect you to defeat him. I only count on you not to die." He ordered, and his tone made it clear that his will was absolute in this.

One of the figures bowed his head reverently and replied, in a voice distorted by the mask, "As you command, Bane of Kings. We live to serve."

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

Stepstones, Bloodstone

Qhorwyn Hoare

He took one last look at the quickly written message, then held out his hand towards one of his men. "Take this and deliver it to the maester. Have him send a raven to my father as soon as possible," he ordered, then looked at his most faithful companion, Rodrik Harlaw, and Yandel Saan, the greatest of the pirate lords ruling the Stepstones, standing at the desk.

"Qhorwyn , are you sure this is the right move? We are putting your father's plans at risk. If something goes wrong, he will have our heads." asked the heir to the House of Harlaw with uncertainty.

He only rolled his eyes. This was not the first time he had heard this question in the past two days since they had received a message from Yandel's men in the city.

"I am convinced that this is the right move. Sunspear stands practically open to us now that most of their fleet has left port. An opportunity like this may not happen again." He replied, a mask of cold calm on his face.

"Lord Qhorwyn is right," interjected Saan, hitherto silent. "The reason for such a move on the part of the Martells can only be due to the discovery of our forces not far from Tor."

"Even if it is, it does not explain why they would make such an exposure," replied Rodrik earnestly, glancing angrily at the Lysian pirate. "Perhaps it is better to attack the fleet?"

"Are you stupid? Their ships are twice as big as ours. We would suffer too many losses." Qhoryn replied, raising his voice for the first time. "We will attack the next night, just before dawn, when the guards are least alert and visibility is at its worst. And then I will present my father with Sunspear and Shadow City on a plate."

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

Essos, Asshai by the Shadow

Noctis Shadowspawn

He and his companion stood in the shadow of one of the harbour buildings, abandoned for millennia but still untouched by the passage of time. The only blemish that could be seen was the very material of which they were composed. Greasy black stone that seemed to absorb the very light, causing the entire city to be filled with darkness.

In addition, it was impossible not to mention the sick feeling it evoked in people. The black stone was infected with a magic so evil, unnatural and disgusting that no child or animal could survive here for more than a few weeks.

The only inhabitants were people practising the most varied kinds of magic. They were the only ones who could survive here, and even so, most of them had long since lost their minds to some degree.

Noctis has spent almost six decades in this city, trying to uncover its secrets. Its very existence was a fundamental mystery, as its size surpassed all others. What's more, its walls could have easily housed Valyria, Volantis and Quarth, and there would still be room left.

How powerful a civilisation must have been and what vast territories it commanded to build such a city and then feed its inhabitants. There were many theories, the most popular of which was that of the Great Empire of the Dawn, of which Asshai was to be the capital.

The history of the Long Night, the Bloodstone Emperor and the fall of this powerful nation would explain the current state of the city. It did not look like this from the beginning, and the contamination simply came later.

"My friend. It's about time. The signal has appeared." His companion spoke up. Her golden-silver strands of hair betraying her origins hid under the navy blue hood of her cloak, and her crimson eyes looked at him with urgency. Rizzly lights glimmered in the distance on the coast. 7 flashes of flame.

"Let's go. The ship should be ready. Once we're at sea, we'll be safe." He nodded, then cautiously moved towards their destination, trying to stay in the shadows of the buildings at all times.

To his relief, they reached the docks without any trouble. On the one hand, the city had no guards, but on the other hand, there was no telling who could be watching you at any given moment.

They were greeted on board by Captain Corwyn Velaryon, whose family the ship belonged to. Not only would he take them from Asshai, but his family's seat was currently on the Isle of Driftmark in Westeros, where they needed to be. For that was where Aeliandre's dreams were leading them.

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

Dorne, The coast near The Tor

Nymeria Nymeros Martell

There were screams everywhere. Smoke and the smell of burning wood and bodies hung in the air, mixed with the smell of the sea. She gracefully parried with her spear an axe heading towards her right side, then crushed the head of a bald man twice her size with the butt of her weapon.

Then she speared another opponent who tried to attack her from the other side. Right next to her, one of the Ironborn slashed across the face of a Dornishman. Warm blood splattered her face, and her blood boiled.

These beasts dare to attack the land of her ancestors, to kill her subjects. With an angry cry, she thrust her spear into the pirate's left eye, piercing his skull through.

"MY DEAR NIECE. THE FIRE OF DORNE BURNS IN YOU!" her uncle shouted, fighting a few paces away from her, his spear taking a terrible toll. "YOUR FATHER WOULD BE PROUD IF HE SAW YOU NOW."

A smile spread across her lips, and joy filled her heart. This was her first real fight, and she already felt that she was born for this.

When they had fallen upon the Ironborn by surprise, under the cover of night, she had doubts whether she would survive the battle, but now she didn't want to be anywhere else. Every thrust, every cut, every strike sought revenge for the millennia of wrongs done by that cursed nation.

She didn't know how long they had been fighting, but despite their numerical superiority, the battle was moving slowly. The Ironborn fought with the desperation of men who knew that nothing but death or torture awaited them.

Before the last of their enemies had been killed or captured, morning had come, and the sun revealed a sight far from pleasant. The beach, the decks of ships, and the waters of the sea themselves were filled with corpses, and unfortunately not only the Ironborns'. Hundreds of Dornishmen had fallen fighting the raiders, giving their lives for their home.

Nymeria swore to herself that she would never forget them or their families. It was the least she could do.

Exhausted, she wanted to fall to the ground and lie down on the rocky shore, but she knew that as the ruler of Dorne, she had to set an example. How could she expect anything from her subjects when she herself would not be able to do it?

In the meantime, she felt Uncle Morgan's hand on her shoulder; despite the visible fatigue, he was smiling broadly, and pride was tearing from his eyes.

"You did great, my princess. I admit I am surprised. I was afraid that the battle would be too much for you, but you impressed not only me but your people as well. The sight of their ruler fighting at their side will surely be remembered by them."

Involuntarily, a light blush crept onto her face. She could only thank her for her olive skin, which partially hid it. Grateful for the praise, she quickly changed the subject, moving on to more important matters.

"I think it's time to tidy up the battlefield," she said, then added with a grim expression. "Let us gather our wounded and fallen, and from the corpses of the Ironborn let us take everything of value and throw them overboard."

Her uncle nodded. "We will also take over the ships that are usable, but we must burn the rest."

"Then we need to rest, but no longer than a few hours. I feel something is wrong. It is possible that we missed something, or that Ulrik's information was incomplete. My instincts have never failed me. There are only 7 ships left in Sunspear and about 1500 of the city's crew."

Nymeria hesitated for a moment, agreeing, seeing no flaw in his logic. In addition, she felt that everything had gone too smoothly.

Her uncle took one last look at her, saying, "First battle, and not even a scratch. Amazing. I got this in my first fight." He pointed to the barely visible scar that ran along his right cheek.

"I wouldn't say I wasn't hurt. I got kicked in the stomach so hard the bruise probably won't go away for a month. The skin is probably all black." She replied with a slight grimace, feeling a sharp shoot of pain through her upper abdomen.

Her uncle just laughed and replied with obvious amusement, "Oh well. Maybe next time you'll avoid getting kicked by warriors much bigger than you".