Aenar Targaryen (295 A.C. Nine Moon)
The Swamps of the Neck.
He crouched in the tree's thick branches, eyes narrowed as he peered through the tangled leaves at the murky water below. His heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to remain still, barely daring to breathe. He had trained relentlessly for this day, preparing for this precise moment—the moment when his prey would finally reveal itself. The raw meat he'd hung as bait now dangled tantalizingly above the water's edge, a lure the beast onto the land that surrounded the driftertree he was in. How long he had waited, he could not say. The minutes had blurred into hours, but he remained patient, knowing that success demanded nothing less.
The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation, a stench he had grown accustomed to, even fond of, over these past few moons spent in the Neck. The swamp had a way of seeping into someone's bones, of becoming a part of him. Now, it was his ally, masking his scent and hiding him from the monstrous predators that prowled these waters. He listened intently, straining to catch the faintest sound. Then, there it was—a splash, faint at first, but growing louder. His heart leaped into his throat. The beast was coming.
A dark shape emerged from the depths, gliding silently toward the shore. Even in the dim light, he could see its sheer size, far larger than any lizardlion he had ever encountered. Eight meters of muscle and scale. The beast's eyes glowed like embers in the shadowed water, fixated on the bloody meat hanging from the tree. It edged closer, drawn by the scent, unaware of the hunter lurking above.
He forced himself to steady his breathing, focusing on the task at hand. The Carrnogmen might favor the frogspear, but he needed something with more heft, more force. He gripped the haft of his boar spear. The blade sharpened to a lethal point. He could feel the tension in his muscles, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins as the beast moved into a position where he wanted to. He wanted to succeed, as failure was not an option. If he missed, the beast would rip him into pieces.
The Lizardlion's head broke the surface, came on the land, and walked over to meat and its jaws snapping greedily at the bait. "Now," He whispered to himself and sprang from the tree, plunging the spear downward with all his might, aiming for the vulnerable spot at the center of the creature's skull. The world seemed to slow as he fell, the spear tip glinting in the pale light, and then—impact.
The Lizardlion let out an ear-splitting roar, the sound reverberating through the swamp as the spear struck true, burying deep into its skull. He felt a rush of triumph, a wave of relief washing over him—until the beast's tail lashed out with terrifying speed, catching him square in the chest. The force of the blow sent him flying, his body slamming into the swamp's murky waters. Pain exploded in his ribs, and for a moment, the world went black.
He awoke submerged, lungs burning as the filthy water filled his mouth and nose. Panic seized him, "Find a piece of old. It's close. Use her cub." The Voice whispered to him.
Then his eyes sprung open, but he saw not much, only a small flicker of light at the bottom of the swamp. Then, half-trashing, he came to the surface, coughing out water and taking deep breaths. Disoriented, he struggled to his feet, the boggy ground sucking at his boots as he stumbled forward.
The Lizardlion lay where it had fallen, the spear still lodged in its skull, its massive body finally still. He approached it cautiously, his breath ragged. Despite everything, he couldn't help but feel a sense of reverence for the beast. It had fought fiercely, but he had prevailed. "Thank you for all you will give to my people," he murmured, touching its bloodied head.
A low, guttural growl froze him in place. He turned slowly, eyes widening in alarm. Emerging from the underbrush, a smaller Lizardlion—barely a meter long—stood glaring at him with bright, hungry eyes. The realization hit him like a cold wave. This was her cub.
"Easy," He said, and the thing came closer. He put his hand in front of the thing. "I'm sorry," he said, and the small Lizardlion razed forward. "Stop," he yelled, looking the small Lizardlion straight in the eyes. For a moment, everything went black.
"Fuck," he groaned, but what came out was a growl, not words. He looked in front and saw everything in black and white and himself lying still in front of him. 'Oh, I warg into the Lizardlion. He claimed it was a similar sensation to when warg into the eagle he claimed during his training with Howland and Jojen.' He thought.
"A piece of old is here. Use the cub." The Voice said again. It had become more frequent that voice came into his subconscious while awake. Although it wasn't like his dreams, they spoke to each other there. Although the voice mostly gave advice or spook in damn riddles.
Without hesitation, the Lizardlion's body responded to his will. He slid silently into the water, the sensation of moving through the murky depths natural, effortless. His powerful limbs propelled him downward, deeper into the swamp's dark heart. "Thank you, little one," he thought, directing the sentiment toward the creature whose body he now inhabited. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you from now on."
He sniffed the water, his senses acutely tuned to the scent of ancient metal and buried secrets. His claws scraped through mud and debris, driven by instinct and the voice's mysterious command. And then, buried deep beneath the muck, his claws found something. A black iron helmet with runes of the valyrian and the first men on it. 'What on earth does a helmet with runes of Valyria and the first men do in the Neck? Why has it both runes?' He thought, surprised. He bit at the helm and dragged it on shore, where he was still lying there unmoving.
Then he wilts himself back into his body. He woke with gaps and the small lizardlion looking at him with curiosity. "Thank you, boy." He said, and a small thing came closer with the helmet still in maw. "Good boy." He said as he stroked the lizardlion's head. The animal purred as he did.
Then he looked back at the helmet. "Shit, that isn't black iron. Is it Valyrian steel? It is the same as Blackfrye and has the same pattern." He exclaimed as he examined the helmet further. As he traced the helmet with his finger, he felt a scar that looked like ice and went broken.
"A piece of old long forgotten." The voice said again, at hearing it again, he grumbled, "Fuck you. If you go on like this, people will think I'm mad like my grandfather." He said, to nowhere.
He grumbled and walked over to his pack, where the horn was what he was supposed to call when the hunt was done. 'Greywater Watch would feast upon his prize on the morrow.' He thought happily, as he blew the horn and its sound ego across the swamp.
Benjen Stark (295 A.C. Nine Moon)
Nightfort
'Why did he come to the place of ancient horrors again.' As he heard the crunch of snow under his foot, he stood in front of the entrance of the Nightfort. "First Ranger, what the measter Aemon wanted you to find here again?" Ser Alister Thorne asked. The measter had advised him to bring Targaryen loyalists in case some might become distrustful and might find out what they were doing. In that case, they could be brought into the loop. They were sent to the Wall because of their loyalty to the Targaryens.
"Books, and other artifacts that might be of use, measter Aemon has use for them in the future." He answered, and the old Man-of-Arms nodded.
He Stark surveyed the crumbling ruin of the Nightfort, the largest and oldest of the Wall's castles, shrouded in ancient tales of terror and mystery. The cold wind howled through the broken towers and twisted trees that had taken root in the once-grand yards, making the place seem alive with whispers of the past. Ser Alister Thorne stood nearby. His expression was as icy as the landscape around them. Even in his years as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he had rarely seen the older man unnerved, but the Nightfort had a way of unsettling even the most hardened souls.
"Books and artifacts," Benjen repeated to himself, the words of his uncle, Maester Aemon, echoing in his mind. The maester's request had been simple enough on the surface, but Benjen knew there was more to it. Aemon's foresight was unmatched, and if he had sent him to this forsaken place, it was for reasons beyond recovering a few old tomes.
Aenar needed all the help he could get to understand the knowledge that he was just now beginning to understand: greensight and dragondreams. The Nightfort was an ancient place and was to reason that it held knowledge. That someone with dragondreams or greensight could use.
"Alright, let's split up and see what you can find." He ordered as he took a torch and descended one of the stairs. Alliser followed him down.
"First Ranger, this place is gigantic. Where would you find something of use here." Ser Alister remarked, his voice cutting through the wind. "I will go down lowest, vault form learned from measter Aemon. It's the oldest of this place."
At last, they reached the deepest vaults. It was dark; if it were not for the torches they were carrying, it would be pitch black. "Nightfort indeed." He murmured as he reached the end of the stairs.
"Do my eyes deceive me, or are those the others, and with dragon and direwolf fighting against them," Allister exclaimed as they reached the end of the hallway they had walked into. He saw what Alister saw. "Hmm, it seems Aemon was right. There is something here, but what? I don't see any form of a door." He said as he looked upon the wall.
"A paw and claw mark." He said as he pointed to howls in the wall. They both had reddish looks to them. 'Bloodlock? Ned told him that Targaryen used bloodlocks in the Iron Bank and Dragonstone. Was this that as well?' He wondered as he took out his knife. "Benjen, what are you doing?" Allister asked.
"Trying something." He said as he cut himself and pressed his hand onto the paw. At the carvings began to glow faintly, reacting to the blood. The door shifted with a groan as if awakening from a long slumber, but it opened. Benjen hesitated, then glanced back at Ser Alister.
"How did you know?" Aliseter asked. "I shall tell you later, Ser. Now, lest see what is inside this vault. I wonder when this was last opened. Because there aren't any records of it, could it be that they were destroyed during the reign of the nightking?" He wondered as step through the door.
As Benjen stepped through the ancient door, the air inside the vault was heavy with the weight of centuries. The room was dimly lit by the faint, eerie glow of the carvings that lined the walls and the light that came from their torches. The walls were adorned with intricate runes, a blend of the mysterious symbols of Old Valyria and the ancient runes of the First Men, intertwining in a pattern that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.
In the center of the vault, resting on ornate stone pedestals, lay an array of weapons and artifacts. The black blades of dragonglass weapons glinted darkly in the dim light, their edges sharp and lethal. Beside them, ancient weirwood bows, pale and ghostly wood, were strung with sinew that looked as strong as the day they were crafted. Shields made of weirwood stood beside the bows, their surfaces smooth and unblemished.
Scattered around the room were stone tablets etched with the runes of the First Men. He couldn't read them, but he didn't doubt they weren't valuable. "By all the gods is the ancient armory of the watch," Allister exclaimed as his hand traced one dragonglass weapon.
"Yet, why dragonglass? The stuff, if brittle, steel can easily break the stuff." Alliser wonder allowed. "I don't only think that will be useful for the Watch, but also why came here." He said, and Alliser looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"So why are we here, Benjen? Because a measter of the Watch doesn't just ask you to go here out of the blue. Also, you have frequently conserved with Aemon for the past few moons." Alister questioned him.
"My Ser, I have a question: are you still loyal to House Targaryen? Would you fight for that house again if you could and protect its legacy?" He said as he looked at the old knight. "It doesn't matter. House Targaryen is gone. Only Measter Aemon is still in Westeros. As for the others, your brother's fat friend is hunting Viserys and Daenerys in Esso by all accounts." Allister crowled at him.
"What would you do if I told you we are here for the true King of the Seven Kingdoms? The son of a wolf and a dragon, the last of the line of Rhaegar Targaryen." Benjen said with a smirk.
Allister stared at him with bulging eyes. "Lies, Rhaegar's childeren are dead." "Not all. One still lives under the care of Howland Reed and Sword of the Morning." He said. "No, your brother's bastard, he is…" The man was stunned.
"Yes, my nephew is the last trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. As they were married, and there was no abduction, the entire rebellion was based on lies. Although not totally, as I hope you can also agree to order the death of two heirs, and a lord paramount is more than cause for war. After that, the mad King also ordered my brother's death and Robert's death, who by that had done anything wrong. I would say the rebels had just cause." He said.
"That's true, both sides caused the damn war, but Aerys had to go. If only Rhaegar could have taken the throne, and now you are telling me one of his sons is still alive?" Alliset asked, his voice now full of sorrow.
"Yes, he is alive. What will you do now, Ser?" He said, placing his hand on his sword hilt. 'I'd rather not kill Alister, but if I have to, I will.' He thought.
"Serve my King. I'm here because of my loyalty to House Targaryen. That has never wavered. Whatever you and measter Aemon are planning, I'm in. I'm ready to serve my King." Alliser said without wavering.
"Good, as you can't tell anyone else. My nephew will come here in less than a year. Until then, we prepare for his arrival and help him the best we can." He said, looking Allister straight in the eyes. He could have sworn he saw Allister Thorne smile.
Hello everyone!
If you've enjoyed my stories and would like to support my work, consider joining my community. Your support means the world to me and helps me continue creating the content you and I love.
By becoming a patreon, you'll get access to exclusive benefits like:
- Early access to new chapters
- Writing and story updates.
- Access to concept art for the stories.
- And, of course, you will support me.
- And much more!
Join now and be part of a community that loves and supports creativity. Your contribution makes a huge difference and allows me to keep bringing you exciting new stories.
If you want to join, go to Patreon. Copy this link : www.patreon.com/HeroDut1998
Thank you for all your support!
(This link will be added to all the stories that will hit five chapters)