(Erlend Mudd, Firmridge)
"The ceremony went well enough."
An unimpressed stare was directed towards him, "If you mean the fact that they were too frightened to naysay you, one could say that."
"It worked at least, I didn't even have to do anything but say some flowery words." Was his retort.
"True enough, it helped that they always despised those greedy magisters."
"Come now love, this was your idea after all. I could have just as easily informed them that it would be a reward ceremony."
Visenya shook her head, "They needed to be left unbalanced, you should never give them an inch or they'll find a way to use it against you." She disagreed.
He was effectively in the same situation she and her siblings had been when they united Westeros. Thus, she was by far the best person to seek guidance on the matter.
Erlend did not respond, instead placing his head on her shoulders as they lay in each other's arms. The tourney and subsequent eventful days had given him no time to spend with the woman he loved.
Don't get him wrong, he cared deeply for each of his lovers, but that did not take away from the fact that Visenya would always come first. She had been present with him from the first day, if he couldn't trust her, who could he trust?
"Varys met with Baelish." She pointed out.
He knew how much she despised the rat, Westeros would not have turned out as bad as it had in the canon timeline if it was not for him. So many key figures who could've helped against the Long Night were killed directly or indirectly by his actions.
It was remarkable just how influential the little copper counter had been and how detrimental his existence to humanity was. Unfortunately for him, reaching such heights was all but impossible in this lifetime.
"I'm aware, my imprints were present during the meeting. The two seem to be under the assumption that I intend to conquer the lands beyond the wall."
Visenya's lips twitched at the thought of such a conquest. "Will you now?" Her tone was playful, clearly amused.
"Don't be silly, love. Doing so would be tantamount to revealing myself to the ice bastard too soon." Even now he only dared to venture those lands with heavy amounts of charms and runic symbols that left the popsicle blind to his gaze.
Admittedly Erlend had thought more than once about just going ahead and wiping out the popsicle by himself, but then it would've felt meaningless.
That's free PR right there, what better way to solidify his dynasty than by openly slaying humanity's worst enemy right in front of its inherently divisive ruling class. That should keep them in awe for at least a thousand years or so.
If the Starks could do it by building a ridiculously enormous wall and not being idiots, then he could too. Magic can only do so much, and it wasn't like he was planning to stick around forever and playing babysitter.
"You're overthinking again." Visenya interrupted his thoughts without mercy.
"Who's fault is that?"
Instead of giving him a direct answer, the Dragon Queen decided to bite his shoulders to show her dissatisfaction with his words.
"..."
Looking speechless at his partner, Erlend didn't really know what to say. Was Visenya learning from Lyanna?
Neither of them spoke after that, instead choosing to enjoy each other's presence and lying quietly in each other's arms.
There was an odd sort of peace to all this. One where he could step back and stop worrying about everything. Erlend looked forward to the day when he could finally step down and hand the reins to Edmund, finally free to do what he wanted with his life.
He'd changed, that he felt deeply. So different from the young man who'd look after his younger siblings and complain incessantly to himself.
An interesting thought popped into his head.
The old man hadn't outright told him he couldn't use those special methods the Night King had found to travel to other worlds. Maybe he'd be able to visit his family once more, though he doubted they'd recognize him.
At least he could make sure they were happy, there would be no need to linger and add to their sorrow.
Looking at the woman he loved, Erlend was confident he would come out victorious. Just one step at a time, there really was no need to rush everything.
'Since when have I become so sentimental…'
…
(Doran Martell, Sunspear)
Looking at the object in his hand, Doran felt uneasy.
Why would the Mudd brat reward them for their 'loyalty'? He knew full well just how ridiculous such a statement was considering his actions and those of the other Great Houses.
Perhaps only Stark and Durrandon remained truly loyal, but every other House had done its best to undermine their new liege.
If even the Conqueror and Conciliator couldn't keep them loyal after his death, what chance did this ambitious brat have?
Oberyn had handed him the ring, looked him right in the eye, and said, "Don't do anything stupid, even I can't save you if you go too far." Those words were all he said before promptly leaving, giving him no time to say anything to his estranged brother.
It both infuriated and worried him, as he wasn't sure just how much his brother knew. At the least Oberyn wouldn't reveal the truth to the King, which he was confident about.
Doran knew full well just how dangerous his past few actions had been, if the King had an inkling of what he'd done, then Dorne would be bathed in dragon flames before anyone could react.
Something he knew his brother would never allow to happen.
Still, there was no reason not to accept such a gift, finally putting the admittedly impressive ring on his finger, Doran contemplated his next move.
Those people had contacted him once more, urging him to find out if the Dragons had any visible weakness they could make use of, he had no idea where they got the confidence to ask such a thing.
The death of Rhaenys and her weapon had been a matter of luck, and it wasn't even a Martell who had done it. If they hoped to replicate such a situation, then they were in for a terrible time.
Reportedly, Erlend always had his dragons close at hand, not to mention he had at least one banner routinely patrolling close to the capital at all times.
Not regularly though, the Banner stationed near the capital was always rotated for whatever reason, perhaps it was to get his soldiers accustomed to different locations within the region, but he couldn't say for certain.
Doran was no commander, so he could not say for sure, his gout made sure of that.
Any attempt to do anything similar to the riot of King's Landing during the dance was even more outlandish. Those who participated in the death of the dragons were starving, half-mad peasants who cared not a whit for their lives and were dealing with chained and weakened dragons.
They were also stirred up by a leading religious figure, something Westeros lacked at the moment and was unlikely to produce unless the King keeled over dead. A great contrast to the situation around Firmridge at the moment.
There were even rumors that not only did these dragons look different from their Targaryen predecessors but even had special abilities, which was proven true during the fall of Pyke.
So even if they managed to get a bolt strong enough to hit the damn beast, there was no reason to believe it would be able to hurt them.
Gritting his teeth at a sudden bout of pain, Doran couldn't help but gain a look of despair. Not for the first time, he cursed Rhaeger and his equally mad father for their actions. They had inflicted upon Westeros a scourge that he truly had no idea how to deal with.
Was he supposed to just sit there and watch all his ancestor's carefully planned work fall to ruin just because of a hair-brained scheme based on the words of some mad soothsayer? The Martells were supposed to rise above all, instead like before they were forced to kneel to another self-proclaimed conqueror.
Doran was angry, but he wasn't stupid.
He needed to be more careful, surely there was a chip in the armor he hadn't found yet. Everyone had a weakness, he just hadn't found it yet. As for those Essosi magisters, they can be ignored; he reckoned it would be for the best if they were used to capture most of the King's attention now.
He suspected that they, or at least a few members of them, had been part of the scheme that saw the late Mudd patriarch and his wife dead. That should be more than enough incentive to have the King go after them.
Not like they had anything incriminating on him, Doran was far too careful to allow such a thing to happen. Those leeches surely were planning something now, it would be too out of the ordinary if they hadn't done so.
Maybe he should add something to the fire, if he was lucky both sides would end up wiping each other out.
Motioning for Areo to step closer, "Send word to Uller, I have a need for Harmen."
His leal Captain nodded in understanding, before quickly conveying the command to the other guardsmen who made their way to the Maester.
Doran watched this with a keen eye, he was well aware Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria would definitely object to his next actions, but he did not care.
He was doing this for House Martell and Dorne, eventually they would come to understand one day.
'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.'
…
(Melisandre, Undisclosed)
His wisdom rang true as it always did.
Her liege had succeeded in his plan to ensnare the ever-greedy Great Houses, now all he required was time, time for the magic to set and the lords to lose their ability to resist.
Time he must make precious use of, for she could sense the uneasiness growing within her 'God'. He grew ever more frightened by the majesty of her liege, sending her signs of envy and distaste.
Restrained by the power of her liege, in a land where the deity had very little influence and say. Unknowing of her true allegiance and cautioning her to remain out of sight lest she alert his supposed enemy.
The god was confident that he could hide her from Erlend's gaze. Yet, he dare not make a move himself. She was aware that at least none of his other followers aside from Thoros was present within the continent.
Waiting as he always did for others to do so on his behalf, She was quite familiar with R'hllor and his way of thinking. The flame god was like a vulture, ready to strike at the very last end.
Only when his 'prey' was sufficiently weakened would he dare take action, that was how he managed to grow so powerful these past few centuries after all. Where other gods would recklessly charge their followers to cause trouble or even take action themselves, he would do the opposite, waiting for the right opportunity.
A similarity that mirrored her liege in a way, though unlike the fire demon as he would put it, Erlend could afford to overturn the board when needed.
Her liege did love to play the long game and if her suspicions were correct then he had all the time needed to do so.
The fire god has absorbed much of the common folk who used to worship the fallen Valyrian gods into his own following, bringing miracles to them at a time when the continent found itself bereft of any such phenomenon.
It was quite ingenious in a way, for there was no one to oppose him. Perhaps if it wasn't for her liege, she might have been convinced to remain loyal to the deity.
Alas, he was too unfortunate on that end.
She knew, rather felt it when R'hllor finally made a move, his presence making itself known eastwards and shifting his focus away from her. Melisandre understood his intent, the arisen god sought answers from Valyria itself.
Seeking ways to curb the rising Mudd and bring him down.
An insult to the deities that once ran amok in that pretentious land, as he walked freely upon its ruins. Yet, what could they do, their home was their grave, and their paradise was but a mere wisp of mist, that could unravel at any moment.
Regardless, it gave her time to complete her mission now that his attention was elsewhere. "Make sure this makes its way to our liege." She said to seemingly no one.
Appearing behind her without a trace, a hooded figure calmly grabbed the scroll in her hand, before disappearing into the shadows of the great wall.
She did not flinch nor react to the seemingly unnatural method, instead, her gaze remained on the surroundings. Faster than any could react, a small flame launched itself at the clearing ahead.
Before the target could react, they were hit by the small flame that quickly began spreading itself throughout their body, their screams muffled by the cloth covering them.
Melisandre watched intently as the flame continued along a seemingly empty clearing, body after body turning to ashes by the living flame. Some tried to flee, but their attempts proved fruitless as the flame engulfed them one after the other.
Oh, how envious R'hllor would be should he observe such a situation, for this was not his fire, but her liege's.
A gift granted to her, to protect her from R'hllor and any enemy that sought her harm. Her lips rose at the irony of it all, a flame that even the God of Fire could not control and may even be harmed by. Something that would probably turn the deity mad with fury, seeing as it was effectively stomping on his pride.
Leisurely she made her way to the ashes, and with a small wave, they began to disperse among the surroundings. It appeared as if there had never been anything here previously, just the natural vegetation that could be typically found all over the Kingdom.
She had an inkling of who exactly they belonged to, perhaps a hidden group from the east or maybe one of the Great Houses opposed to her liege's rule.
While they knew nothing of the connection between the two, that wouldn't stop them from attempting to discredit the King in any way they could. Either way, they would find it quite difficult to leave the capital region once they were in, after all, no hunter worth their salt would simply leave their prey out for too long.
It was doubtful if they would learn from their mistake, arrogance and pride tended to blind people, especially the lords of these lands. They did after all regard this whole thing as a game to be played.
Finally, the living flame, now larger and more robust, returned to her, hiding itself once more and waiting for the next target to make themselves known.
…
(???, Valyria)
Vulnerable.
For the first time in centuries, it no longer felt confident in its strength.
Not since the days those accursed hybrids dominated the eastern continent did it feel this much fear.
Initially, assuming it could manipulate and eventually take control of this mortal and his desirable physique. The deity had allowed and even subtly supported his growth. Now, it deeply regretted that decision.
Perhaps arranging the tragedy was a mistake.
From the untimely rebirth of the dragons to the conquest, it felt itself slowly and surely losing grip on the situation. Now, he was of its reach and presented a threat so significant, it could bring everything down.
An idea swiftly appeared in its spiritual consciousness, before being discarded. Asking its brethren for aid was… could never be an option, for the price it would pay meant losing everything it had built this past few centuries.
An impossible decision.
Surely those hybrids had a way of bringing down the monster it had nurtured, those monsters had always been the best at getting rid of such beings.
Looking at the wasteland around it, a glimmer entered its eye. Determination coursing through its consciousness.
While it lamented the loss of such a desirable body, the abomination's line still existed. Perhaps one of his descendants could be blessed with a similar physique that would allow it to traverse the mortal plane freely.
Greed filled its being, as it dreamed of an unshackled future, where it no longer had to rely on mere ants just to interfere in the world.
Next time it would avoid making such a mistake again.