Chapter 22 - All Things, Blood
Brienne of Tarth arrived in the Vale with her squire, not facing trouble from forces to the South. Jaime Lannister had warned her that the Lannister Army's potential action against the Tully's House at Riverrun had been delayed since they were no longer pinned between King's Landing and the Freys. This had stalled any plans for the Lannister army, and more had stalled them since she had left, including the removal of the current queen and the arrest of the Queen Mother. The army now sat outside King's Landing, gathering dust.
That didn't matter, though. Brienne had an oath to hold onto, and as the giant castle on top of spire-like cliffs appeared in the distance, she could only look up with worry. Lord Hadrian had warned her about how difficult it would be to get to Sansa, but it was her sworn duty. Her oathbound duty.
"What will we say to the guards, my lady?" Podrick asked.
She had been training her new squire as they had traveled for nearly a month to get to the Vale. He had barely shown signs of improving, but he had never held a weapon either. It would be a slow and ongoing process.
"The truth. That is what honor demands. My duty is to Lady Sansa, and that is all that matters." Her eyes narrowed with the weight of her duty, as if it sat on her brow, weighing her down.
Podrick nodded, though he was behind the lady on his own mount, so she didn't see it. That was more of an answer than he was expecting.
They continued into the valley that held the Bloody Gate, a fortress in and of itself that could hold several thousand men in rotation. A place that had earned a reputation across the Vale and beyond as a foolish and impossible place to breach.
The High Road is so narrow that only four riders can pass at once, as archers line the bridge across the gate. Beyond the gate is a kill zone with battlements looking down the steep and rocky trail all the way to the Eyrie. Impossible to climb and even harder to traverse, any force that stormed the gates and managed to break through would only find a valley of death, with arrows as rain, and a river of their own blood under their feet.
Brienne stared at the Bloody Gate, where thousands have died, so much so that the very stones have a bloody-red tint to them. She couldn't help but nod at the place, truly worthy of the name.
"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" A towering voice fell on them like a hammer.
She made eye contact with the Commanding officer, the Knight of the Gate staring balefully back at them, as she and Podrick approached.
"Brienne of Tarth. I am oathbound to serve as protector and guard to Lady Sansa Stark, who resides within the Eyrie."
The Commander's eyes narrowed, "There are no Starks currently in residence at the Eyrie. Begone!"
She turned to Podrick, sharing a worried glance. Turning back to the guard, "It is my understanding that Lady Sansa Stark came here under cover. Would you at least permit me entry to speak to Lady Arryn?"
"No! There are no Starks here, and I will not bother the Lady with such a foolish waste of time. Begone or be bloodied! Those are your options."
And with that, he left. Archer's along the wall were ready to draw their bows if she took another step closer. It was a plain refusal.
This would not be easy, just as Lord Hadrian had warned.
~~o0o~~
Blood splashed across the floor as Long Claw tore through two guards in one devastating swipe. He stepped forward, easily parrying and spinning through the third, his blade passing between the chest armor and the helmet with ease. Jon Snow stopped for a moment as more guards ran at him, only for arrows to appear lodged deep in each of their throats. He walked forward to the cowering Triarch.
The ruler was the last of the three within the city, one falling to the Tattered Prince in another sprawling estate, and the other leading a force to confront the other Legions out of the eastern gates. They wouldn't last long if the roar of Emperor Hadrian's dragon were anything to go by.
A few more guards entered, immediately hit by a massive Dire Wolf. Ghost came in at speed, immediately taking down one, ripping his throat out. The other guards didn't know how to respond to the horse-sized wolf. They fell backward as Ghost turned his attention to them, his maw bloody and vicious.
"P-please, we surrender!"
"You had your chance to surrender. You began executing people instead," Jon said, his voice as cold as the north.
"I can-" The Triarch was about to start offering things, trying to tempt him into letting him live. But his orders were clear. The man's head hit the ground, along with a hand that tried to prevent the blade.
Jon cleaned Longclaw on the lavish robes the former leader of the city wore. A hand ran up his back, feeling the cloak that was the trademark of the Ghost Legion, "You have a way with your blade, Jon Snow."
"Aye? And you with that bow..." He pulled her into him, pressing his lips to hers.
Turning to the balcony, the two walked out and got a good look at the city. Smoke rose from the east as a black and green dragon flew across the sky. The balcony was clearly something the Triarch built to look down the long street, all the way to the far gate, so that the Triarch may lord over others. Jon and Ygritte watched as the gates were blown inward like a ram had hit them.
A huge elephant walked into the city. The massive gates that were once a status symbol, which the Triarchs used to look down on people, were large enough for the Gold Legion and their beasts to walk through.
"That truly is a sight, isn't it, Jon Snow?"
"It is," he replied, watching the towering mobile fortresses easily enter the city. Men were gored by their tusks, smashed underfoot, or pierced by ballista or arrow from the men on top.
Footsteps from behind drew their attention, "Commander! The defenses have fallen, the city is ours!"
"Aye, and the Red Temple?"
"They have kept their gates shut, but have also conceded to the terms the Emperor set," The man said.
Jon nodded, "Good, ensure that any more guard posts, barracks, and remaining soldiers have all surrendered. I want this city to be on its knees by the time the Emperor lands, understood?"
"Aye, sir!"
The man ran off, and Jon could feel the gaze on him. He looked over to his lover, noticing those burning eyes staring back. That was a sight he would never get enough of. The way she had so much desire emanating from her was enough to drive any man insane. But it was only for him. For his eyes.
A smile crossed his face, "I am sure there is a bed around here."
"Going to fuck me in a palace, Jon Snow?" Ygritte said, her eyes moving in such a devastating way.
He just laughed and pulled her into the next room. He would do just that, he figured.
A moment before he fell into bed with his woman, he looked out on the city. Things are so different now. He was no longer the foolish boy who sold his soul to stand watch on the Wall. He was a Commander of a Legion that had sacked cities at the command of an Emperor. He looked back at his woman with a smile. She was his and his alone.
This is a world he could get used to.
~~o0o~~
Volantis fell to three legions and a dragon.
They hadn't listened to his ultimatum, believing that the other cities that fell to the Dragon Empire weren't strong enough. Harry was surprised at the forces they began to muster, around 15 thousand slave soldiers. None of which were a part of the future Flame Legion, the Red Temple was slowly building.
Harry had flown Rhaegal with one of the newest additions to his saddles, making the massive dragon invisible for just over 5 minutes. It was more than enough time to appear above an unprepared army and lay down a swath of destruction. Harry had just targeted the back lines, forcing the army to move in horror. They were slaves, but they would still fight to the death if ordered. He had to eliminate any hope of working against him.
The Frost Legion was there, but they were pulled back along the coast as the Gold Legion pushed forward. That left North as the only option for the slaves to flee, and they did just that. Their slaver whip masters were only able to stem the tide for a moment, but a dragon and 30 elephants closing in on them was enough to spark any man.
Fear was a useful tool, but it could be used by more than one person. Their masters promised death, but a dragon guaranteed it. A small portion of the Ghost Legion remained outside the city, an entire battalion of 1,000 heavy horsemen in ghostly cloaks charged up from the coast. They had a few goals, but Captain Grayson, formerly of the Blackfyre forces, had one goal: To capture the remaining Triarch and relieve him of his head.
It was obvious where he sat, out in front of his troops on a throne of gold and wood. A hundred slaves moving the gaudy structure were not enough to protect him. Most of them would have fled when Rhaegal attacked, but they were attached to the structure via heavy chains. As the slave army began to fracture and run to the north, Grayson and his cavalry swept in and completed his mission with grace, the golden throne now covered in blood.
And in less than a day, another city fell to the Dragon Empire, its borders now threatening the so-called 'Free Cities.'
After the fighting died down and the city accepted its fate, Harry was meeting with his Commanders in one of the former Triarch's Palaces.
"We have several options here, but I have some other things I need to take care of. I want your opinions, though. Do we move up the Rhoyne River, taking villages until we hit Qohor, or do we move west along the Orange Shore and into the disputed lands, our eyes on Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr?"
Commander Strickland cleared his throat, or what was left of it after his curse had activated, "That is a long journey up to Qohor for any force, but getting to Lys without your portals isn't going to happen easily."
"A small group of us could move portals there for you. How many ships have we captured today?" Commander Snow asked.
The Tattered Prince spoke up, "Hundreds, easily. We let quite a few go as well, but they were merchants and non-Volantian people."
"Right, if you don't have plans, then, Your Grace, send a group of us to Lys under cover. If we leave now, we could make it and be ready to open portals for the Ghost and Gold legions."
"I have been to Lys before. We stay on the east side, south of the bend here," The Tattered Prince signaled along the coastline of the crescent-shaped island on the map before them. "This is all farmland, perfect for a walking legion to get across, unseen for the Ghosts. They would have nowhere to go besides into the deep. We land in the afternoon, we will be hitting them by night."
Harry nodded, "Tell me about Lys, what do you know?"
The Tattered Prince shrugged, "The Lyseni are all about merchants and wealth, though bloodlines are important still. The slaves outnumber the freeborn three times over. The lands are extremely fertile, and the fish are more plentiful than in most places, I'd wager. They also have some of the most gorgeous women in the world, breeding slaves to produce untold beauties. They have some of the best whores in the world...from what I hear."
"And the economy? Just fish?"
"Fruits, wine, tapestries. They also have some alchemists who make some of the deadliest poisons in the world."
"Interesting. Alright, we take Lys next, but I won't be there unless you need me. You shouldn't need help with two legions. The Frost Legion will remain in Volantis in case they decide to send forces down from Qohor. Their scouts will see any retaliatory force coming. As far as this alchemists' guild is concerned, I would like to offer them a place in my empire, though if they try to kill you, just grab what notes and information you can; it honestly doesn't matter much. As far as slaves go, free them, and we will get everything situated soon. I will send people to help with that, same with Volantis."
"People?" Jon Snow asked.
"Indeed, Daenerys has set up a...task force you might call it, to help get people situated after being slaves for their whole life. They have been doing great work in Mantarys, Tolos, and Elyria. Standard punishments for slave owners, take down the noble houses, and merchants who also used them."
"Ah, Your Grace, there is also a fairly substantial force of pirates that operate out of the stepstones." His finger ran along the islands to the north west of Lys, just south and west of Tyrosh. "Rumor has it that they are employed by Lys, harassing ships trading from Westeros to Tyrosh and Myr, along with any that pass south," The Tattered Prince said.
"Alright, we are far from being ready with a navy any time soon, but find out what information you can. Locations would be preferable; a quick dragon strike can remedy any foolish pirates," Harry said, going quiet as he continued to process information. "If anyone of quality stands out, do not kill them. Something tells me we can find someone worth a damn in this city, not sure who, though, so that will be up to your discretion. Maybe a noble that has been speaking out against slavery or something."
The Commanders exchanged glances but didn't say anything.
"Can we expect retaliation from Tyrosh and Myr if Lys falls?" Harry asked the Tattered Prince.
"Maybe before the Dance of Dragons, but they split the Disputed lands since then and have only engaged in third-party trade...proxy wars with pirates and mercenaries. If they stand together, it will be because they know we are coming for them and they have no choice but to join forces...of course, if that happens, then they will be vulnerable from behind," He smirked.
Captain Strickland nodded, "The Disputed Lands are very wide open, making for perfect territory for our elephants to dominate any battlefield. Getting back to the mainland before word from Lys makes it to the Tyroshi will be key."
Harry nodded, "We take Lys, and move the Legions back onto land. I'll have the Frost Legion Scouts join you after that, so we can be ready for Myr and Tyrosh in a few weeks."
Commander Tormund nodded, "Aye, we could use a real fight, you keep bringing that dragon of yours out and there won't be but scraps remaining. We need a full meal."
"I can make that happen. If not in the Disputed Lands, then north, outside of Pentos or something."
"And Qohor?" Jon asked.
"That will be a mission for your Ghost Legion. They have a fair amount of Unsullied, as much if not more than we do. I would have them added to our ranks. Alright, here we are going with your plan, starting tonight," Harry gestured to the Tattered Prince. "Send the Ghost Legion home and have them ready to go via portal by the time you get to Lys," Harry handed Jon Snow the miniature teleportation gate. Explaining how to use it with a new activation phrase instead of Harry just silently willing it to change to its larger and activated shape. In combination with the Tome of Legions, taking down more of the Free Cities had just gotten easier.
With that, Harry said his farewells and flew with Rhaegal back to Meereen. In combination with the speed-increasing saddle enchantments, the massive dragon made the flight in record time. He landed Rhaegal within the Citadel in the Palace of Meereen and used a combination of Aquamenti, Scourgify, and Incendio to clean and dry him after removing the saddle.
"You're getting big," Harry commented.
"As our connection grows, so do I," Rhaegal replied, the language of serpents hissing between them.
"How do you feel after that battle?"
"My fire grows strong," the giant dragon said as Harry used magic to scrub his scales. He was leaning into it with his eyes closed.
"Have you spoken with your siblings? How are they progressing?"
"Mmm, Drogon grows powerful as well, blood and flame equally, yet it is Viserion that impresses me most. His shadow flames, courtesy of Mistress Shiera, are quite potent."
"Good." There wasn't much conversation between them as body language was more easily conveyed. Bonding while cleaning the giant wyvern was enough for any dragon. He left the Rhaegal to settle in their room, cleaned and fed. The room had size-altering enchantments, enabling it to grow or shrink based on who or what joined in. If one of the dragons, their siblings, or even future children wanted to join them, the enchantments would increase the room to comfortably fit them. It was one of Harry's most intricate enchantment arrays, and it made for quite a show.
He let Rhaegal go relax and Apparated out of the Citadel, finding Missendei waiting for him.
"Greetings, Emperor," She said with a bow.
In the Royal Chambers within Meereen's Palace, Harry had set up the entrance to the Peverell Manor, a shimmering gateway made from the trunk it resides within. Ser Barristan stood guard as he nodded at Harry.
"Missendei, how are you?"
"Good, thank you for asking. Empress Daenerys and Lady Shiera have requested your presence within the Library in the Manor at your earliest convenience."
"Oh? Alright, thank you," He said. He didn't bother walking through the door and instead Apparated within the chamber, finding the two gorgeous silver-haired women leaning over a table covered with interesting spell circles.
Shiera was the first to notice his arrival, looking over to him with a devastating smile, "Harry! Come here!"
Daenerys turned as well, purple eyes dancing in delight, "How are you, my love?"
Harry smiled back at them, walking over and embracing Daenerys, kissing her lips. "I am good, Volantis is ours, and we have plans in place for Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr."
Viewing the table, he recognized a ritual circle. "What are you lot working on?"
The women smiled, Shiera speaking up, "Well, we were trying to decide on how to deal with the Dothraki. Options aside from violence are limited, and that is when I found an interesting spell in one of your books here."
"Oh? I am sure I haven't seen that circle before. What are we working with?"
"It's good you are here, we are sort of stuck on an activation trigger for it..." Daenerys said, immediately focusing back on the ritual.
"Hmm, before that, mind if I inspect this?"
"Not at all, your eyes would be very helpful," Daenerys agreed, rubbing his back in comfort.
Harry began to inspect the circle, finding the surprisingly intricate ritual interesting. It had strange implications, not necessarily controlling in its nature, but more or less changing the means by which a group of people viewed the world. He then realized that the 'group' of people was significantly larger than what could be classified as a group.
It was meant for an entire city, or even larger. This spell circle was meant to be massive in size, and it didn't have an edge for how far it bound people. In other words, not everyone had to be in the circle to be targeted by it, but it would extend well beyond the edge of the circle, depending on how much energy was drawn in during the activation.
That brought him to the part of the ritual they needed help with. It wasn't just the triggering of the ritual that needed help, but also the activation and powering clauses.
This was a blood ritual, requiring at least 10 people to willingly give their lives or nearly double that if done against their will. Intention was key here, but someone had to die regardless. That brought him back to the purpose of the ritual: It supplanted the entire worldview of a group of people, changing the ideals, means, and aspects of their entire identity as a culture, replacing it with a version provided by the ritual. Not just that, but the people who died either willingly had to have the new view in their mind's eye, or if against their will, they had to be what was changed.
A difference in intention.
He looked at the two women with an eyebrow raised, but they just watched him, curious to see what he truly thought about it. He went back and double checked the arithmancy behind the circle, finding a few minor things that could be more accurately placed. He then went back to the cost and trigger conditions and looked back up.
"Alright, I assume that you both understand how powerful this ritual is, first and foremost?" Harry asked.
Shiera nodded gravely, "Indeed, but how much blood would be spilled if we had to fight them?"
Harry put his hands up before Daenerys could inject her thoughts as well, "Hey, I understand how savage the Dothraki can be. Even their name is intimidating. You don't have to sell me on this, but I do need you to understand how...powerful this really is. It's going to cover a massive distance and will require upwards of 20 unwilling people to be sacrificed. Not only that, but you also have to provide the new aspects to supplant the change in their worldview. I am not entirely sure what all would be changing..."
Daenerys spoke up, "This is called a Ritual of Culture, and indeed, it will change how the Dothraki live and view the world. Here is a list of things that we have sort of... preemptively decided on."
She slid over a sheet showing different aspects that would be either changed out or completely erased. He quickly read it over and nodded. It changed many aspects of the culture, but kept the 'circumstances', for lack of a better word, together.
Instead of raping and pillaging, they would show mercy and would only take what is needed. It wouldn't stop the Dothraki from defending themselves, nor would it remove the need to guard their territory. The 'warrior spirit' of the Dothraki would still be maintained, including the strange aspect of honor that comes with not being defeated in combat, tied to the length of their hair. This brought him to the next interesting theme: elite warriors would guide them in combat, while the wise women would lead in a spiritual and cultural sense. The fighters would be known as Blood Riders, while the wse women would be known as the Dosh Khaleen.
The Dothraki would still be nomadic and would be dependent on other cities to provide them with vegetables, fruits, and grain. But they would trade for it, instead of stealing the resources they needed. This would enhance the limited food production and livestock that remain in Vaes Dothrak.
"Is Vaes Dothrak capable of this sort of production?"
Daenerys looked unsure, "I doubt it, it's in the center of a desert."
Shiera answered, "I am also worried about that. Everything I have seen indicates that it is fairly dry, meaning that it would require vast amounts of water to flow there if we wanted any kind of serious production."
"Where is Vaes Dothrak?"
Daenerys grabbed a crude map that one of them might have drawn, "Everything I have heard about it was that it was north of the bay of dragons, in the center of the Dothraki Sea. I have been there, but I don't remember where it was exactly on a map."
"A sea of sand?" Harry asked, reading one of the labels in Daenerys' writing.
"I believe so."
"Then we will have to change that part of the ritual. People constantly wanting to grow food in a place that can't do it is a recipe for disaster."
Daenerys frowned, "That makes sense, but I wanted to push them to move away from being so nomadic, hopefully setting up a plethora of villages that could provide food and support for them."
Harry nodded, then got an idea. "Mixy?" Harry called out to his librarian house elf.
The little proper elf with huge, adorable glasses appeared, "Yes, Master Harry?"
Her voice was the most composed of any elf he had ever interacted with. "Could you grab anything we might have on Genghis Khan? Specifically, how they dealt with food and water and the like?"
"I believe I have just the things for it, Master Harry."
She disappeared, and a few moments later, four books appeared floating above the table, along with Mixy snapping her fingers. The books all opened to chapters that had been marked a long time ago.
"Thank you, Mixy. Now, back on Earth, there used to be a man named Genghis Khan, who conquered enough land to make the largest contiguous empire in history."
Harry grabbed one of the books and began to read. "Ah, yes, look at this: 'Genghis Khan supported his empire with a combination of livestock, trade, and strategic food management practices. The Mongols, as nomadic herders, primarily relied on their animals for sustenance, including milk, meat, and other animal products. They also actively engaged in trade, exchanging animal products for other goods, including grains, which were crucial for supplementing their diet."
Daenerys picked one of the other books and was reading, "Three aspects of his empire were Pastoralism and Livestock, Trade and Exchange, and Strategic Food Management...We can work with this."
"And I know of some fantastic stasis runes that can help them with food storage to avoid spoilage," Harry said.
"I think adding something to add the idea of 'honor' to trading could add to their culture, could it not?" Shiera asked. "Like protecting the 'ideal' of trade in and of itself?"
Harry nodded, "Absolutely, I could imagine they only rely on trade now when it's mixed with intimidation. No one wants to deal with the Dothraki, but trading instead of being conquered and raped is a much better deal."
They began to work on the ritual, using inspiration from how Genghis Khan supported his empire. Instead of a horse lord being in charge, it would be anyone who rode a dragon...which means that the three of them would be the only ones who could guide them, with their Khals to lead the Blood Riders below them. The Khals would be selected from the Blood Riders, who would act as a sort of 'lieutenant' to them.
The ritual was fine-tuned over the course of a few hours and set up with the proper ideals and with Daenerys, Harry, and Shiera as the anchors for ruling above the Khals and Dosh Khaleen.
"That leaves us on how and when to activate this ritual," Harry said, as they finished the circle and ideals.
"I have that part covered, though all three of us will need to be there to lay the circle...and it would be best if it were to be laid out in blood," Shiera said. "It would be even better if we could force it to float where it couldn't be tampered with."
"That should be doable, though I could form the idea and sort of 'program' the activation to flow up into the circle we made here. All that is left is to decide when and where..."
Shiera smiled and nodded to Daenerys, who spoke up, "The last of the Khal's have just made it to Vaes Dothrak. Meaning that nearly 90% of the Dothraki are at the Womb of the World, as they call it."
Harry smiled back at his wife and lover. This would be fun.
~~o0o~~
Nearly 50 people, including the Khals, their Blood Riders, and the Dosh Khaleen, were all within the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, drinking and exchanging stories as the first night of celebrations began.
Two unexpected people appeared within the tent with a crack of displaced air, both shrouded in shadow-like cloaks of darkness. Glowing eyes looked around at the people with malice. They carried no weapons, but struck out violently all the same. Shadows rose from the darkest parts of the room, and throats were torn open, their blood flowing as if not burdened by gravity. The Khals and their Blood riders tried to respond, but they found themselves gazing into a pair of slitted eyes.
Eyes that glowed green and would be the last thing they saw. Those who found themselves looking into them were quickly relieved of their souls, and their corpses fell in a heap. With a quick swipe of his wand, cuts appeared on both the survivors and the dead.
The ritual circle began to activate at the loss of life as Harry and Shiera tore through the people in the Temple. In seconds, blood began to pool, not on the floor, but it rose into the air, forming a sphere. Harry began to cast the long spell that would move the blood into the sky. It started slowly at first, as the bodies began to shrivel and collapse, having been completely drained, but the more blood that rose, the faster the process seemed to go.
The power of life, paid in blood.
"Is that all of them?" Shiera whispered.
"Two more...over there," Harry nodded to the two Dosh Khaleen trembling behind a wall. Shiera pulled on the shadows, and they tore through the remaining women.
"It has started, let's get out of here," Harry said as he finished casting the spell on the carriage-sized sphere of levitating blood. There was one final thing to do; however, he quickly knocked over all of the sconces and braziers, causing flames to pour out into the room. It would be the pyre to ignite the ritual, now that the blood had been absorbed.
Shiera put her arm through Harry's, and they Apparated together, finding Viscerion and Rhaegal waiting a good way out of Vaes Dothrak. Daenerys and Drogon had already left, which was part of the plan.
"Do you think this will work?" Shiera asked, her normal confidence surprisingly filled with nerves.
Harry raised an eyebrow, "Are you worried it won't?"
"It is not like that, I am just worried in general. She has the most dangerous part."
Harry laughed, "Shiera...she's literally fireproof, and the saddle will protect both her and Drogon. It will be fine. Plus, her new armor is enchanted. It would be more impressive if she managed to get hurt at all."
She scowled at him, but there was no threat behind it, "Fine. We should go."
Harry nodded and hopped up onto Rhaegal's back, "Alright, lad, time for a show."
~~o0o~~
Daenerys and Drogon tore across the moonless sky. A field of stars was the only illumination, the red meteor having disappeared a few months before. Despite the full helm she wore, the enchantments let her see better than her normal vision. Even at night.
She looked down at the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen as it burst into flames. The entire city of Vaes Dothrak began to converge on the place, watching in horror as their leaders and spiritual guides burned alive.
It was time.
She activated the Portkey that would put her front and center for all the action. She activated runes on her saddle, having a barrier form around both her and Drogon, as well as increasing his speed. She dove down and rose back up, climbing directly upward as the stone activated.
Drogon appeared in the center of the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen, which effectively looked like the dragon had been summoned from within the building. Daenerys gripped the saddle as they burst from the flames and through the roof, pulling with them a shower of blood and fire.
The Dothraki stumbled back; their usual stoic and fearless faces were filled with fear. Drogon let out a devastating roar as the ritual of Culture was completely activated. The ball of blood that had formed from Harry and Shiera's ministrations had fully spread out into a razor-thin ritual circle spanning hundreds of feet in diameter while excess blood rained from the sky.
It floated above the Dothraki like an axe ready to chop the head of culture off its target.
Drogon levelled out and Daenerys spoke in High Valyrian, the words incomprehensible to the onlookers, but they still understood courtesy of an enchantment on her armor.
"I am Daenerys Stormborn, of House Targaryen, Empress and Ruler of the Dragon Empire. I claim the Dothraki people as my own, supplanting their culture with my own. Replacing their ideals with my own. My word is law."
The activating words spoken, the ritual was in full progress, and the floating blood ignited into crimson flames, reminiscent of Drogon's dragon fire. As it did, the thousands of people who had converged on the Dosh Khaleen Temple looked up in shock and fear. Their faces illuminated by the red flickering light of the blood fire ritual circle.
Magic cascaded outward, spanning the entire width of the Womb of the World. The several hundred thousand Dothraki stopped what they were doing...fighting, fucking, or drinking, it all stopped, and they left what tents or structures they were in, heads swiveling to find the source of the call that rang through their ears.
A fundamental change took place, affecting every one of them- man, woman, and child alike. The culture that had run their barbaric nomadic society, and how those ideals gave them pride in taking what they wanted, be that women, gold, or livestock, were all shifted to align with ideals that Daenerys, Shiera, and Harry agreed on before they imbued them into the ritual.
Daenerys sat on Drogon as she felt the bond between her and her new people. It wasn't a slave bond or a means of directly controlling the individuals, but a fundamental change in their society, all magically bound to her.
Tomorrow would be a new day for this part of the growing empire.
~~o0o~~
Harry watched the ritual finish, the bloody red light reflected off thousands of faces. He felt Daenerys' presence radiate from the center of the ritual, supplanting the Dothraki's culture with one approved by the three of them.
"Am I going too far?" Harry asked out loud.
Shimmer was back at the manor, reading before she went to sleep. The graceful phoenix didn't wish to take part in he ritual, not caring about the Dothraki or the morals behind the ritual either.
Instead, Death answered, his mother's loving voice devoid of the emotion and love that signified who it was. She spoke into his ear.
"Too far? By what standards?"
Harry sighed, "I don't know, it just feels..."
Death laughed before he could finish the sentence, "By your old world standards, then."
"I suppose so. Did we just Imperio an entire civilization?"
"A rhetorical question, no doubt, you know that didn't happen."
"I do know that, but I was so excited by the fact that Daenerys found a bit of passion in magic, and this entire civilization bent the knee to her will as a result."
"Jealously then?"
He rolled his eyes, "I am more proud of her than jealous, just...unsure how to dissect everything."
She laughed her inhumane laugh, "Worlds have fallen to rituals, reaping trillions of souls in less than an hour. Countries, empires, and kingdoms have forced millions into slavery. This world alone has hundreds of thousands of dead walking south as we speak, looking to usurp the bodies of the resting dead from my grasp...another ritual as the cause."
He looked over to the form covered in darkness floating in the air next to Rhaegal. Soft strands of red hair floated out of her hood, most likely intentionally catching the light below, something Death did either to mock him or to show how he was hers. A strange display of its weird humor.
"So, no, you have not gone too far. In fact, going further doesn't bother me. Even if you were to wipe out nations in this world, they would be reaped before any god could claim them. There is a reason the fools in Westeros dare not challenge Death."
Death didn't mean the mortals...she meant the gods they believed in. Calling them fools for their minuscule 'domains.' The Stranger himself dares not attempt to claim a domain of death, regardless of what they say. His true domain is a 'path to Death.' He claims no domain aside from the path and the unknown.
Harry nodded, not liking the willingness Death had for him to do as he pleased. She really didn't seem to care, something he would have to figure out in his own time.
"Alright, Rhaegal, let's go home."
The massive dragon let out a roar, perhaps listening to the one-sided conversation between Harry and Death. The dragon was oddly perceptive, having even turned his head to watch Harry speak to an entity he couldn't see, connected to his magic or not. Daenerys and Drogon, as well as Shiera and Viserion, eventually followed behind.
Harry smiled at Daenerys, giving her a thumbs up, a gesture he had shared as part of a few hand signals between riders. Underneath her new Valyrian Steel armor, a massive smile blossomed on her face. Whether or not the morally right thing had been done didn't matter. They would change this world together, even if they had to force it by blood and flame.
~~o0o~~
Harry sighed, sitting at his workbench within the Peverell Manor. He had a rough design in front of him, yet it just didn't seem to fit.
"What have you got there, Lord Hadrian?" Gendry's voice rang through the room.
"Ah, I need to create another armor and weapon set, but I don't want it to be strong against my forces."
Gendry looked confused, "What do you want it to be strong against?"
"The White Walkers."
The silence stretched, "You mentioned them the other day..."
"I did," Harry said, getting a good look at the lad. "Make no mistake, Gendry, the largest threat to humanity is the massing forces of undead beyond the Wall."
Gendry stared back, nodding, "I don't doubt your word, but I am just a random guy from Flea Bottom. What would I know of such things?"
"That's fair, but now that you are working for me, I want you to be aware of it. Speaking of which, we haven't officially spoken on that. Are you looking for a more permanent job? As our Master Smith of the Dragon Empire, perhaps?"
Gendry's eyes opened wide, "I don't know...I still don't think I am worthy of that title."
"Gendry... you and I have created incredible metals, forged armor that was replicated for an entire army, and now you are working on another set of incredible armor for me. Are you not?"
He laughed, "I mean, we did do that, but I wouldn't have known how..."
Harry just raised an eyebrow, "Gendry, you learned how. You are one of only a handful of people on this planet who can reforge Valyrian Steel. You created a new alloy with it. If you don't want to be named a Master, then set the goal for yourself and work towards it. Yet, I would still have you named as the head smith of the Empire...if you accept it."
Gendry looked contemplative for a time, "Can I think on it?"
Harry shrugged, "Of course."
"In the meantime, do you need some help with that?"
"I do, but it's a strange thing...We aren't working with metal, though, so be ready for that."
"What?"
"I said we needed a weapon that can be deadly to the White Walkers, but not so against our forces," Harry said.
Gendry nodded, "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, it just so happens that obsidian, or as it is known in Westeros, Dragonglass, is quite effective against White Walkers...as it near instantly severs any connection the wights have with their walker overlords. But that isn't all-"
"It doesn't do much against real armor?"
"Partially, but it also shatters the stronger White Walkers quite easily, in fact. Though the same can be said about Valyrian Steel, and I would assume other enchanted blades are quite capable of doing the same."
"Ah, back to that enchanted stuff again."
Harry laughed, "Everything you make, I enchant, what is wrong with that?"
Gendry shrugged, "I guess it makes me feel like the metal doesn't matter as much when you can just put magic into it and it becomes some unbreakable master piece."
"That isn't true at all, Gendry. The enchantments are only as good as the material that I inscribe the runes into. Normal metals will burn themselves out and be less potent than others, or just not take the magic well at all. I have seen things warp, melt, or fracture because of the material. That is why Valyrian Steel, Goblin-wrought Silver, and other incredible or magical materials are so important. They have all been refined through specific circumstances that make them durable beyond belief. Magic can only take hold of metals and works that have truly been well crafted."
Gendry was going to speak, but he was cut off as Harry continued, "What's more, if your capability as a smith wasn't up to par, the way the magic flows through a weapon or armor would cause weak points, warping, or fracturing as well. That is why I inspect everything you have made, and have even corrected a few things. Believe me when I say that the metal you work with comes out of your hands with a quality that goes beyond 'well-made.' I wouldn't have offered the position in my Empire if I hadn't been working with you this entire time, or if I found you lacking in some way."
Gendry nodded, "Thank you, my Lord."
"It is earned. Now, I think for our new Flame Legion, we need to make short spears, along with daggers... I was thinking something like this..."
Harry showed Gendry what he was working on, and the two of them fell into an easy routine.
~~o0o~~
"Get up," The menacing green eyes of Lord Hadrian glared at him from the other side of his prison bars. He hadn't heard him approach, nor any doors opening or closing.
Jorah stood up, weakened and nearly blind from the darkness in these damp cells. They shouldn't be so bad compared to any other prison cell he had stayed in before...if not for the terrible darkness that spoke to him at all hours of the day. He could see shapes of horrifying beings just out of sight, only the mere glimpses of their forms, constantly reaching for him.
Sleep constantly eluded him as there was always something to make noise at just the right time to keep him from falling fully asleep. When he had been lucky enough to grab some sleep, the darkness closed in on him, and terrible sounds or horrifying laughter made him jump in fear. Curling in the corner was the only defense he had, yet the shadows didn't care as they cut into him. He never died, but always felt the pain...the blood.
How was he still alive?
If he could see, surely he would be covered in his own blood by now. And that wasn't the worst part.
It was what had been missing since Lord Hadrian had cast that terrible spell on him. Like everything, he always wanted and craved was just a spot of darkness in his mind. He ran from the darkness in the cell, yet desperately dove into the missing light in his mind. What had he taken? Who was missing? Why was he so empty and broken?
He had to...protect? Love? Care? Or...betray? Someone? Yes. He had betrayed someone. Everything about him had betrayed someone. And now all that remained was this husk. His name should not be Jorah any longer. That man is dead.
He couldn't be sure. But those green eyes that stared at him...he couldn't forget those.
"I said, get up!" The voice was colder than the eyes, frost starting to cover the cell around him. He began to move, just as the cell doors ground open.
When he finally made it to his feet, he looked up to see Hadrian's green eyes and a snarling dog helm breathing smoke; the flames of hell surely were just down his throat. He averted his gaze.
"This is your new armor... It will always remain on," Hadrian said.
He looked around, and sometime between blinks, the entire prison room had gained light, as if it had always been there, only that he couldn't see it. Then he saw the armor, more intimidating than anything he had seen, full black plate mail, with bloody, cursed runes burning across every surface. He was drawn towards it, the nearly hidden swirls of Valyrian Steel still appeared against the darkness of the black plate armor.
"That's right, it is Valyrian Steel. It holds magic in ways most other metals don't, ways that ensure you suffer for what you have done." Hadrian's voice was the axe that fell on him, the judgment of the Stranger made manifest. Yet he couldn't help but accept it.
He touched the armor, just on the chest, pulling his hand back as his finger had been cut. He made no sound, but looked down at his hands, realizing that he hadn't been bleeding until this moment. That blood was drawn to the armor. He touched it again, the bloody tip of his finger splitting further as he did.
It was a good pain, though, something that felt...not right, but necessary. Glancing at Hadrian, he just saw the burning eyes staring at him, the terrifying hellhound-man behind him quietly watching as well.
The sound of shifting metal drew his attention back to the armor, only for him to recoil in horror as it opened up like a gaping maw, not horizontal but vertical like some eldritch being's incomprehensible mouth. A bloody tongue lashed out and wrapped around him, pulling him into the maw.
He screamed.
He could hear Hadrian speaking casually, as if he wasn't being devoured. "You no longer have a name. You shall be known as the Cursed Knight. Doomed to wander Valyria, cleansing what horrors remain there."
His right arm was the first thing to be eaten, but it wasn't eaten; instead, it was forced into a metallic armored sleeve, followed by his back and feet.
"You will bleed constantly, slowly paying back your debt to $* #&*^$#."
The name! He couldn't hear it! Without a doubt, that word was what was missing in his mind!
The screaming began again after that, not the pain, but the loss. The emptiness within him.
Jorah was gone. The Cursed Knight's left arm was encased in the black armor, followed by the closing mouth that grasped his chest and sealed. The final thing was his face.
The Cursed Knight looked out in horror, and he pushed with all his might to escape the closing armor, but it wasn't meant to be. Blood vessels in his eyes burst, snot ran down his face, and he lost his voice as he screamed.
The helmet shut around his face; only darkness was visible around him.
"You shall only see darkness, aside from me and what you must cleanse from the world. You will never die as long as your duty remains. You will continue to serve until #$^ $## has accepted your payment in blood. Now follow me."
The Cursed Knight's eyes lost their blue-green color as they were charged with their duty. If any person looked into the Cursed Knight's helm, only bloody red irises would stare back, before he did what needed to be done.
He only had his duty left. He was a husk and only had a mission.
~~o0o~~
"Yer a sick fucker, you know that?" The Hound said.
Harry nodded, "Oh, trust me, what I had in mind originally would have been much worse."
The Hound looked back. The Cursed Knight, formerly known as Jorah Mormont, trudged behind them, not able to raise his head high enough to look them in the eye.
"Look, if I get that bad, just fucking kill me."
Harry laughed, "Hound, if you ever betrayed me, the contract would kill you. He's only alive cause Daenerys wanted a chance for redemption for her old friend."
"Redemption? Is that really a thing?"
Harry shrugged, "I mean...it's possible, but I set the parameters so high that he will be fighting for several lifetimes before anything comes close to redemption."
The Hound shook his head, "But the fucking tongue, did you need to do all that?"
"Your problem is with the tongue?"
"Is it still fuckin' moving in there?"
"I...am not sure."
They both looked back and couldn't tell if it was or not.
"Yeah, no clue. I put some really fucked up enchantments in there. I mean, worst of the worst type shit. When you have to dig through a book made of human skin to find runes that are dark enough...well, you just know it's as bad as it gets. But they say the deepest circle of hell is saved for betrayers, and trust me when I say that Death would love to claim him."
The Hound shook his head and looked away from the lumbering figure behind him, "Where to next then?"
"We need to just grab his sword, I guess I should have done that before putting him in the armor...but whatever. Then we are off to Valyria, right where we left off before we were summoned away last time."
"Great."
"Don't worry about it! It will be a fantastic adventure!" Harry said, the gleaming menace in his eyes sent shivers down the Hound's spine.
Harry had the Hound and the Cursed Knight wait while he Apparated to the armory, where a massive great sword lay. It was an ugly thing, black as the night and jagged as hell. It wasn't elegant, it wasn't pretty. It was an unbreakable slab of steel, meant to rend anything that it hit.
Speaking of the enchantments, he did promise Daenerys to give the Cursed Knight a chance at redemption, so that meant giving him the equipment needed to do so. He named the sword the Rending Blade, not just because of its cursed damage, but because of its power against the undead and spirits. It would be a fantastic blade for a wandering cursed knight against a horde of cursed spirits.
Harry placed a hand on both of them, the Hound watching the Cursed Knight warily, and Shimmer brought the group to the western shores of Valyria. Just where he had found Brightroar.
Blighted fog rolled across the grey landscape, magical devastation having left its mark. Not a single living thing could be seen; even mold had been turned to dust. Harry could see them now, thousands of spirits and lost souls, captured by the blight of Valyria, destined to roam as long as they are bound by magic. He could reap them, force their souls to the next realm, unlink them from their magical connection to the world around them.
Instead, he would build a new foothold for the Old Gods. Planting their strongest Weirwood Tree in the center of Valyria. The center of a new ritual that will slowly consume the blight and restore the land, but Harry had no idea how long that would take, or if it would even work. The Cursed Knight would be a part of it, cleansing the lingering souls as he wandered around the land.
The three walked into the fog, their respective armors, enchantments, and spells protecting them from the corrosive and dampening effects. The cleansing of Valyria was about to begin. No matter how long it would take, the Cursed Knight would fight.
~~o0o~~
"Does Winterfell have a moon door?" Robin Arryn asked, looking down at the snow castle version of Winterfell that Sansa had made.
"No, it's not high up in the mountains, but down on the ground," Sansa replied.
"That sounds dangerous!" The boy replied, his voice and tone turning nearly cruel, "But how do you make people fly?"
"We don't."
"But what do you do with all the bad people, or the scary people! And the people you don't like?"
"Girls didn't take part in that where I came from."
Robin's eyes turned to barely contained excitement, "Well, I am Lord of the Vale, when I grow up, I'll be able to fly anybody who bothers me. Or you!" There was just a long enough pause to make Sansa's heart skip a beat, "When we get married, you can tell me if you don't like somebody, and WOOSH! Right through the moon door."
"I like the sound of that."
"Let's put a moon door in your Winterfell!" He gestured to the snow castle.
"Alright," Sansa said.
Robin reached out and said, "We can put it right here!"
His hand went right through the tallest tower, causing a cascade of collapsing snow.
"Oh, you've ruined it! I will have to build it all over again."
"I didn't ruin it!"
"You did."
"It was already ruined cause it didn't have a moon door! I was fixing it!"
"Knocking things down isn't fixing them, it's ruining them," Sansa said, surprised at her anger at the boy.
Robin's temper flared, "I didn't ruin it!"
"You're being stupid!"
"I DIDN'T RUIN IT!" He screamed and began to stomp and kick on her snow castles, knocking everything back down.
He kept kicking it and looking back at her, showing her that he had the power to do so. It hit on something that was all too familiar to Sansa from her time with Joffrey. Her anger flashed in the form of a quick slap, hard enough to catch one of her rings on Robin's lip.
The boy looked up, scared and in pain, a small drop of blood rolling down his lip. He screamed and wailed as he ran away, nearly tripping and falling in the snow as he did so.
"Robin...I'm sorry, I-" She watched him go, defeated.
An amused voice rang through the courtyard, "Children..."
Sansa turned quickly, recognizing Little Finger as she replied, "I hit him."
"I saw."
"I shouldn't have done that."
"No, his mother should have. A long time ago. Consider it a step in the right direction."
"If he tells Aunt Lysa-"
"Let me worry about Aunt Lysa."
He stopped on the other side of the ruins of her snow castle, "I was trying to remember what it looked like. I don't know if I will ever see it again."
"A lot can happen between now and never. If you want to build a new home, sometimes you must destroy the old one."
Sansa felt the next question nearly bubble out of her throat before she realized she was speaking it, "Why did you really kill Joffrey?"
Little Finger's attempt at a comforting smile disappeared as he did his best to hold back the ruthless calculation behind his eyes. Sansa had been around him long enough to know that he wasn't expecting the question. His cold eyes stared at her, but she did her best to stare back.
"Tell me why."
Little Finger found his tongue, "I loved your mother more than you could ever know." He paused, his eyes nearly seeing through her for a moment before focusing back, "Given the opportunity, what do we do to those who've hurt the ones we love?"
Sansa felt her lips crack into a small smile, not enough for most to notice, but Little Finger did. It was all the invitation he needed to step forward, "In a better world, one where love could overcome strength and duty, you might have been my child. But we don't live in that world."
His head tilted down, his eyes falling to her lips, then her chest, and then to her hair. He grabbed a lock between his fingers, feeling the soft strands between them as he admired the red color.
"You're more beautiful than she ever was."
"Lord Baelish..."
"Call me Petyr," He grasped her face and pulled her into a kiss. She was overcome with it for a moment, but pulled back in shock and stared at him. His face was unreadable.
On the balcony above, Lysa Arryn's face turned to rage as she stalked away silently.
~~o0o~~
Shiera and Daenerys found comfort in one another's arms while Harry was absent in Valyria. Both had wanted to join him in his cleansing endeavors, yet there was an empire to run, and Daenerys could use all the help Shiera could provide. Night had fallen in Meereen, a beautiful, warm night with a gentle breeze from the ocean, which allowed the silken curtains to billow across the room. Both Daenerys and Shiera arrived within the Dream. It was a sort of unsaid agreement that they would go into the Dream that night. The hidden Citadel had been gathering magic from dragons living there, imprinting on the Dream as magical structures tended to do. That being said, its hidden nature meant that it hadn't fully manifested like the mobile Peverell Manor or the Wall itself.
Shiera appeared, her form changed from the dire monotones that cascaded around her for so many years. Silver strands flowed around her as she spun, feeling the weightlessness from the rebirth of her self-image. She WAS different, since Harry and Daenerys saved her, not just her outlook on life, but the goals and means that she went about everything. She had goals, she had a dragon, and she had a future free from the magical restraints that had bound her for so long.
"So, where to?" Daenerys's echoing voice sang out.
Shiera looked to her, noticing how her magic had matured, causing her form to manifest nearly as much as her own. She smiled at her fellow lover, "The leaders of Asshai only convene within the Dream. I would like to meet them there."
Daenerys frowned, "You said they only respect the strong..."
Shiera nodded, "We are announcing our intentions today. We go there in person with Harry to take over after."
"I see, and this will be a duel of sorts in person?"
A smile broke across her face, "Of sorts."
They set off in a random direction, since any direction in the Dream is anywhere they wish to go. Reality is malleable as it isn't real. The bright city of Meereen glowed with pleasant dreams. People flitting about, creatures, both domesticated and wild, enjoyed the large pyramids and the plethora of perches and hidden nooks within the city. The overall tone suggested the general outlook on the city and the future was a positive thing.
Harry had been right when he pushed for the building of communities and culture as a means to move forward. Blocks of people lived, dined, and celebrated together, focusing on inclusion and acceptance. It was a new outlook on the world, one powerful enough to hopefully 'break the wheel' that Daenerys had talked so much about. To remove the continuous enslaving and shifting of power, to bring about stability and growth, and to achieve more for the Dragon Empire.
Shiera and Daenerys stepped onto the ocean, walking across the ethereal surface using their willpower to guide them. In just a few minutes, they had completely left the images of the Dragon Empire, but Shiera found her mind wandering. An unfortunate thing while in the Dream.
She thought about her past, how she would run to the Dream to escape her reality. She had more power here, but it was still bound by that man.
A bloody eye appeared, then a ship around it.
Shiera nearly stumbled as Daenerys gasped at the massive galleon that appeared next to them. She quickly cast shadows around Daenerys, whispering for her to be quiet for a moment.
The ship was quiet, silent even. Yet ghostly images of men worked on her deck, moving ropes, adjusting sails, and scrubbing the wood. A scream came, drawing Shiera's attention. She floated over to the bow of the ship, noticing the massive kraken-like symbols on the sails. Shiera was no stranger to torture or suffering, and she saw just that on the front of the ship.
People in different colored robes were strapped around the bow, hanging down as if forced to feel the constant wet from the sea. They hadn't fully manifested in the Dream, but their pain assaulted them at all times, leaving a ghostly flickering image of the pained souls.
She recognized one as a blue-lipped warlock of Qarth, looking to be on his last legs and having been relieved of his blue tongue. Another was clearly a Priestess of the Seven, stripped nude but for her seven-pointed star. She bled from her wrists and between her legs.
Another was a man wearing red robes with a burning flame of R'hllor tattooed brightly on his forehead. His tongue had been removed. Blood ran down his throat and chest.
There were others she didn't recognize at first, until she noticed the symbol of their gods or religions. A Ghiscari priestess, known as a Grace, was tied and bound, her eyes and tongue cut out, blood still running freely.
A warrior priest from Norvos, a theocracy where the Bearded Priests who ruled the city were very much in power. His beard ran red with blood from his missing tongue; he grimaced in horror and pain.
There were two more, the one Shiera instantly recognized as a Moonsinger from Braavos, a beautiful woman who had a slave brand from a pleasure house in Volantis, yet now she had the sliver of a crescent moon on her brow. She, too, had her tongue removed.
The final woman didn't have a religion, or at least none was displayed. Yet she was clearly pregnant, the despair in her lost gaze was filled with betrayal and-
Shiera's thoughts were cut off as a voice she both did and didn't recognize called out to her.
"Do you like my shrine to the Drowned God, little Shade?"
Shiera looked up to a shifting man, one who kept changing constantly, as if he didn't know who he was, or that every part of him fought to take control.
As he shifted, an eyepatch covered his different eyes, one being the purest blue of the ocean, bringing a sense of calm calculation and clarity. The second eye was a raging red, not the color of blood, but of fire. The ruthlessness and violence permeated the air around him as that eye took control.
Those two were one thing, but it was the third eye that disturbed her. One that blinked into existence on the man's forehead, just like the raven's that plagued her dreams for so long.
"No...it can't be," Shiera said, her voice a whisper.
The three men smiled at her, curious, hateful, and excited.
"My, my, my, if it isn't the love and hatred of my life. Come crawling back to me. I knew you couldn't get away fro-OOMM US! WE WILL SILENCE YOU!" His voice broke at the end of his words, the Anger broke through the Bloodraven's control.
The eyes turned pure blue again. "I will only say this once, but you will bow down to us, and in your fear, you will serve us. I will take all I want from you."
Euron, the pirate, spoke so clearly and confidently that his words seemed nearly prophetic for a time. It didn't last as the eyes closed and the black depths of the Bloodraven took control again, the forehead splitting and the eye growing from it.
His face once again grimaced into a terrifying visage of malice. He didn't say anything, but reached for her as she floated in front of the ship. "YOU ARE ALL ALONE, LITTLE BIRD. Once again, in my sight."
Shiera felt his hand crash against her shields. It was an invisible aegis of willpower, because she wasn't alone. Not even close.
Two heterochromatic slitted dragon eyes opened behind her. Creamy silver scales and wings of pure shadow opened up, a threatening display that caused the amalgamation of insanity to stumble back.
Shiera laughed, "I am no longer alone. Meet Viserion, my dragon."
"And there is more!" Another voice appeared, a woman in Valyrian Steel armor sitting across a black and bloody red dragon, utterly dwarfing Viserion in size, was flying in at speed. "DRACARYS!"
Drogon roared as a torrent of bloody red dragon fire, met with Viserion's Shadow flames, two elements that were magically bound to both dragons, cascaded forward like pure destruction incarnate.
"NOOOOOOO!" The Bloodraven, Euron, and the Anger all screamed together. This wouldn't kill them, but it would break their spiritual manifestation, eliminating their influence on the Dream and heavily damaging their power in reality.
As he screamed, the three eyes met another pair; these eyes were different. They meant something different from the rest.
It was inevitable. It was Death.
At that moment in time, Euron, the Anger, and the Bloodraven all knew who they would see when they died. Blood covered his eyes as everything fell into darkness.