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—Jon Arryn
"No, it can't be," Jon murmured, watching as the man he raised like a son fell lifelessly onto the cold hard ground, his head still tumbling off into the distance.
With all he'd seen, he'd not had much hope for Robert's victory in the duel, but still, now that the consequences for his King's reckless nature had finally arrived, he couldn't help but look back at everything that led to this heartbreaking conclusion. If only he could have talked some sense into his liege. Maybe this could have ended in peace. Sure, it would have been a tense peace, but at least his foster son would have been alive and well.
But those were only his current woes—something that with this King Tenebris's insistence to provoke, he felt this was the only way his son's murderer intended for the day to end.
What truly had him contemplating was the near decade that now all seemed in vain.
Was helping usurp the throne the best choice he had? Would Robert be peacefully ruling from Storm's End otherwise?
Jon felt he'd never get his answers for those questions, but he knew they would haunt him for the rest of his days.
"Well, that was anticlimactic," King Tenebris spoke, bringing him out of his daze, returning to his raised throne as the oddly dressed girls transformed back into his armor and sword. "Now, where were we?" The foreign king started, and if not for what he'd just witnessed, the king's tone alone would have had him demanding an answer for the disrespect.
But now they had to play by a new set of rules, and looking to his fellow lords, most of whom seemed to be in a similar state of shock and dismay, he didn't believe any would be stepping forward to put their necks on the line. Of course, that was aside from the grinning Oberyn Martell. Not even he could guess what the madman would do given the situation.
"Please, would you allow us the safe return of His Grace's remains before we begin?" Jon asked, the King's Guards stepping up to the grim task after receiving a nod from the man who'd now be calling the shots for the remainder of this farce of a parley.
"There, you have your king's body; shall we finally begin?" The king chuckled, making Jon hide a frown, all but the splatters of blood remaining in the clearing.
"What are your demands?" he put forth, resigned at this point.
"Demands? Have all of you forgotten that this man still holds our families hostage?" Oberyn shouted, apparently over the glee he felt watching the death of his king.
"Man? Do you still consider this being a paltry mortal after all you've seen?" A lord from the Westerlands—Leo Lefford, if he wasn't mistaken—scolded.
"It's fine; I can forgive such a minor affront from someone related through marriage," King Tenebris easily waved off, everyone, including himself, now sending suspicious glances towards the Dornish party.
The Martells' hatred of the Baratheons wasn't a fact kept hidden; they could only assume the worst.
"But hostages, Uncle In-law? You wound me so. I assure you, aside from the three extras you so kindly sent to my doors, I don't believe my other guests would be too enthused about leaving my palace and the luxury they've become so accustomed to," the king continued, making the Dornish prince growl at the claim, Mace Tyrell standing to put forth his own opinion before being whacked into silence by his mother.
"Enough, Oberyn, we'll first hear what King Tenebris has to say," Doran commanded his unruly brother.
"But brother…" The Red Viper began before being cut off.
"Enough," Doran's glare had Oberyn returning to his seat before nodding to the throne, an amused grin on the king's face.
"You may all think me a tyrant, but my conditions are far from harsh. You will renounce your claim of the North and allow my merchants to go about their business free from tariffs," King Tenebris listed, and Jon was honestly stunned by the modest demands.
"Those are fair arrangements. Ones I shall not oppose," Tywin stated before he could gather himself, most of the lords seemingly in agreement.
"Fantastic, I'm glad we could all come to an agreement," King Tenebris smiled, somehow taking the Lannister's words as if he spoke for them all—not that Jon would comment on the matter.
"But Oberyn, I feel like we've got off on the wrong foot," he watched as the pleased king turned to the scowling prince. "You'll have to thank your daughter and niece for pestering me enough to give in to their wishes," he continued his speech before Jon blankly stared as a golden rift of sorts formed in the air, a woman he'd never imagined seeing again walking through, a toddler holding her hand tight.
Was this man truly a god? Despite his steadfast faith in the Seven Who Are One, he couldn't deny what was now in front of him.
He'd not seen Lyanna since she was young and could have written off the woman at the king's side as nothing more than a Northerner of similar appearance. But these two were, without a doubt, Princess Elia and her daughter, Rhaenys.
"Elia, is that you?" Oberyn's voice trembled as he slowly walked towards his long-lost sister, neither Doran nor King Tenebris raising an objection.
"It is, brother," Elia agreed, a tear running down her cheek as Oberyn held her by the shoulders.
"Happy now?" the king casually asked.
"Where's my nephew?" Oberyn pointedly asked the question most here were likely thinking to themselves, ruffling the hair of his niece, who didn't seem to recognize her uncle. After all, the child would have the strongest claim to the throne.
"Ask your sister," King Tenebris excused himself from the sibling's reunion.
"Oberyn, Aegon was a dragonseed. We only claimed he was ours to keep King Aerys's madness at bay," Elia said after a sigh, her brother's seething glare falling flat.
Jon's eyes turned to the Small Council's Master of Whisperers, the man's face seeming paler than usual. "Did you know of this, Lord Varys?"
In the end, the mummery wouldn't have meant much to the kingdom at large, but it was still something that the eunuch should have informed them about in all the years he'd served.
—Varys
Varys felt his blood running cold, a noose tightening around his neck as his most important play for placing a Blackfyre on the throne became naught but ash.
Already, he was planning his escape. He didn't believe for a moment his deceit would go unpunished, and with all that would change after today's events, if there was any chance at all for seeing his ambitions met, Westeros was no longer the place he could freely weave his web.
"Varys," the Hand's near hiss distracted him from his mental preparations, making him realize he'd missed something.
"Apologies, my lord, I must not have heard what you said," Varys simpered, back to playing his role after the slip-up.
"I asked if you knew about this," Lord Arryn repeated, and he could see the distrust in the man's look.
"This is as shocking as it must be for you, my lord," Varys easily lied, but from the simple grunt of acknowledgment he'd received, he knew his days of going trusted were over—not that it mattered much; he'd be gone the moment he could.
—Lux
Not wishing to watch a grown man cry any longer, Lux looked to the woman seated on his lap, the blonde beauty watching the show like it was a soap opera or something.
"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?" he asked, one hand moving under her shirt in boredom, enjoying the softness of her midsection.
"Mnm, it's quite touching," Val hummed in agreement. "I didn't know you could be so kind."
Lux rolled his eyes at that. He'd done plenty of good deeds since arriving in this shithole of a world. So much so, he was pretty sure it equaled out all the death and destruction he'd caused.
But that wasn't why he currently had the displeasure of watching this tearful reunion. No, that was all because of his two Dornish vixens getting a promise out of him while he was buried to the hilt in Tyene's tight asshole, Arianne working her wonderful tongue along his sack.
He figured it was for the best. They hadn't been too pleased about Cersei, or the deals made with her father. Hopefully this would stop him from having to fuck the frowns off their pretty faces going forward.
Damn, keeping a harem at peace was a lot of work. He'd have to thank Bella for being there to keep things running smoothly most of the time.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen, eager as you might be to continue this lovely get-together, I have much that needs my godly attention," Lux began wrapping things up, descending the temporary throne and fully intent on enjoying the company of his girls as they pampered him after a hard day's work. "But as you can see, I can be the generous neighbor… That is, if we can all understand our place," he narrowed his eyes at the sniveling lords before leaving the final step, most of the cowards not even able to meet his gaze.
"Have you forgotten my daughter and grandchildren? By right, they deserve to rule over the North," Hoster Tully so rudely interrupted his final words that should have concluded this day.
"I was generous enough allowing your grandchildren their claim over Winterfell. Be thankful that I've decided against adding your paltry lands to my holdings," he threatened, grinning as the old man's face turned red.
"But you have not, and any land trade with the south must pass through my territory," Hoster gave his own veiled threat, probably not having the balls to outright say he'd act against him.
"Aye, that's true, and how do you expect I should sustain my lands without collecting tolls on your passing merchants?" The man he could easily recognize as Walder Frey thought himself important enough to butt in.
"It seems your vassal has his own concerns, Lord Tully. I hope you don't mind me settling matters with the Freys first," Lux said, not really asking for an opinion either way. "Now, Lord Walder, far be it for me to put a man out of hearth and home. Therefore, I'm open to any ideas you have." He put on a fake smile, the wrinkled lord perking up at how well things seemed to be going.
"You have children, yes? A betrothal would go a great way towards lowering my fees," the fucker had the audacity to suggest.
Lux sighed; he'd been keeping things so amiable this day, but now the weaselly shit just had to go and ruin his mood.
Looking at the other lords with a smile still on his handsome face, he noticed even they seemed shocked by the man's courage, and Lux was sure more than a few were hopeful he'd take offense at The Late Lord Fry's words.
Lux decided he wouldn't disappoint the crowd.
Mustering a bit of magic, the twin towers of the Crossings formed in a perfect three-dimensional rendering between himself and the southern lords. With travelers, servants, and guards easily spotted moving about, it was made obvious that this wasn't a simple image he'd conjured up.
"A mighty castle," Lux casually commented. "If you were not aware, I only have daughters. A safe home is of course a requirement for any perspective suitors."
"Worry not, King Tenebris; my walls are impenetrable," Walder boasted, proud of his house's history.
"Hmm, as much as I'd like to take your word for it, I trust you'd understand that I'd want to see your claims for myself. After all, the safety of my children is of utmost importance," Lux told the weasel.
"Yes, family should be cherished. Perhaps we could arrange a visit," Walder agreed, acting as if he were nothing but the most benevolent grandfather.
"Ah, no need for that; I can easily test your defenses right here and now," Lux chuckled, and the old Frey finally seemed to realize things might not end up the way he was so brazenly expecting them to.
Snapping his fingers, black portals speckled the skies above the Twins, the demonic creatures that'd been making themselves at home in the swamps of the neck descending on the helpless defenders like a flood, and within all but minutes, chaos reigned, black hellfire consuming the stone structures and surrounding forests.
He'd been wondering what to do with the demons created after Yaling's massacre of the largest slaver city. Siccing them on the weasel just felt right.
"No… It can't be. This must be a trick; a mere illusion," Walder almost sobbed, and just like that, Lux was already back to his good mood.
Ignoring the old lord after teaching him a lesson, Lux turned to the Paramount of the Trident. "Now, Lord Tully, was there something you wanted to add?" He not so kindly asked, deathly silence his only answer.
"Wonderful, I'm glad we could come to this understanding," Lux said after receiving the response he was going for before jumping back onto Hannibal, ready to return home for some much-needed rest and relaxation.
—Seraphim Michael
Flying over the Italian countryside, Michael was determined to see the first task given by their new father completed without error.
And yes, it was definitely a different father seated upon Heaven's Throne, something he and his siblings only realized after leaving the awe-striking presence their new lord radiated.
He didn't exactly know why their father insisted on acting as if he were the original creator, and perhaps it was something he'd never understand. Nevertheless, the throne and system recognized their new lord, and their only duty was faithfully serving.
Shaking himself from the thoughts that held no purpose, Michael quickly arrived at his destination: an isolated church that seemed far too well off for its location.
Disguising himself as a common two-winged angel, Michael strolled through the front entrance, an old nun greeting him before falling to her knees after noticing his feathery appendages.
"Please, Sister, there's no need for that." Michael gave the woman a kind smile before getting to the point. "Could you lead me to the priest in charge here? I have important matters to discuss."
"O-Of course, my lord angel," the sister stammered, ushering him through the lavish halls in a stunned silence.
"Father Marino, you have a visitor," she called out after knocking on one of the back office's doors, nervously waving him in after receiving a curt acknowledgment.
Michael frowned after laying eyes on the portly priest; without even diving into the priest's mind, he could sense sin and greed wafting off the man's form. He was already beginning to feel like this wouldn't be a pleasant conversation.
"Ah, an emissary from Heaven, how may I be of service, sir…" The priest named Marino rubbed his grubby hands together.
"You can call me Leo," he gave a fake name. "And I've come for a girl named Asia Argento."
The sin-riddled man froze at those words, making him narrow his eyes. "Eh, Asia? If you don't mind me asking, what could Heaven want with one of our orphans?" Marino inquired after recovering.
"I do mind," Michael replied, hoping to cut off any further nonsense.
"A-Alright then, I'll take you to our dorms," the priest said after an awkward pause, a frown on his chunky face.
Following the man through the church grounds, Michael's face grew dark; the living conditions of the attached orphanage were far from the opulence on display in the main building and offices. And confirming his suspicions, the priest's fidgeting increased as they finally stopped at a room in the furthest corner of the building, the cracked door looking like it might fall off its hinges at any moment, a loud creak sounding as Marino barged in without even knocking.
"Asia, you have an important guest. This is Sir Leo; how about telling him how well you've been treated?" Marino introduced; a blonde little girl seated in her sparsely furnished room looking at the priest in confusion before her eyes went wide after spotting his wings.
"L-Lord Angel," Asia squeaked, giving an adorable bow.
Michael knelt to the girl's eye level, ruffling the odd strand of hair sticking out with a smile. "Young Asia, my father has heard your prayers. You'll have a new home from now on."
"Really? Wait, father? You mean?" the cutie asked, making him laugh lightly.
"Indeed, it's as you suspect," Michael agreed, happy tears running down her chubby cheeks.
"Now don't panic; my sister will take good care of you," he told Asia before sending her off in a flash.
He'd have loved to talk further with the girl his father felt important enough to send his strongest servant, but he knew he couldn't hold himself back from dealing with the undeserving priest after all he'd seen.
Michael didn't want the innocent girl to witness what would come next.
Now alone with the sniveling priest, Michael's eyes glowed golden as he tore through the man's being, nearly going ill at what he'd seen.
Using young Asia's healing for his own gain wasn't surprising; as much as he'd like it to be different, man's greed couldn't be eradicated, not even in the organization meant to guard against sin and evil.
No, it wasn't this unpleasant fact that had him feeling sick, but the unholy dealings the priest had made with the vilest of devils: young and beautiful nuns sold off like cattle. Michael couldn't understand how such wickedness had seeped into the church.
And to think precious little Asia could have ended up as a future target if not for his father's wisdom.
Michael knew he wasn't an angel of wrath—that title went to his brother Cassiel—but after their new father's arrival, he could already sense the invisible chains binding his actions loosening, his anger soaring for the first time.
"Your sins are unforgivable. The most I will give you is a swift end," Michael growled, a sword of light piercing the man's chest before he had the chance to grovel.
He'd make sure this place was properly cared for in the future, but first he had one last stop to make.
His father hadn't mentioned it in their first meeting, but the next day he sent a message telling him to check out a project run by the church that had something to do with holy swords, led by a man named Valper Galilei.
Michael only prayed his findings wouldn't be as bad as this was.
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