Stormlands, Storm's End
The Smith
As soon as he entered the keep, he sensed that practically all of the court and guards present were under the Dragon's control. Only the servants were somehow left to their own devices; was it a matter of unnecessary dispatch from their enemy, or did he really have a weakness for peasants, as Maiden claimed?
His colours and the family crest embroidered on his jerkin allowed him to get through without any problems, all the way to the entrance to the keep itself, where guards stood in his way.
"Lord Connington, unfortunately we cannot let you in without the Queen Regent's permission. You must wait here while I go to inform her of your arrival."
"Do what you must; I will wait," he replied, then turned on his heel and headed for the low stone bench, located right next to the well on the right side of the courtyard. Having sat down, he watched the guards training in the square thoughtfully.
The air was filled with the stinking scent of the dragon and its power, although he had to admit that he would give a lot to possess the power to completely subjugate a human's mind in such a way.
Of course, he and his other aspects had their own way of influencing people's minds, but they first had to be their followers, at least to a minimal degree; in addition, they lost most of their usefulness, becoming puppets.
However, the Dragon's power was astonishing; rather than simply taking control, he changed something fundamental in their souls and minds, making him the most important person for them, even above their own good and interest.
Because the truth about people was that no matter what they did, it was always done in their own interest.
A husband gave his life for his wife; more than out of love, it was because he would not be able to live without her. A nobleman or a merchant gave away part of his wealth to the poor? Now he can say what a bad person he is, or others can praise him for it.
So this level of control made the Dragon all the more dangerous because there was nothing these people would not be able to go to for him.
He was torn from his thoughts by the appearance of an older knight on the training ground, followed by Arlan, the son and heir of the slain Arrec Durrandon. His characteristic blue eyes and black hair, inherited in this family for thousands of years, were unmistakable.
So, getting to his feet, he moved towards the training men and the boy, and when he was a few steps away from them, a hammer appeared in his right hand. However, it was not a small blacksmith's hammer but a powerful two-handed hammer with which he smashed the boy's head before any of the guards had time to react.
Then the slaughter began, wherein a few seconds he eliminated the closest guards, located on the ground, including the knight guarding the boy. The remaining guards, alerted by the shouts, when they saw what was happening, in shock and anger, threw themselves at him with drawn weapons.
However, with a wave of his hand, the weapons in their hands began to rust and fall apart, even the handles of axes and spears. Weapons were finally coming under his domain. He was the Blacksmith, the creator and destroyer of weapons.
His hammer whirled left and right, disabling nearly three dozen guards. Soon, arrows began to shoot at him from the walls, but his body was covered with impenetrable armour made of the finest steel in a way that ordinary mortals could not. The arrows bounced off him as if from a stone wall.
More and more shouts were heard from all around, and more guards and soldiers began to fill the courtyard. Soon, the din of the fight was pierced by a terrifying scream.
The Smith looked towards the entrance to the main keep, where he saw the Queen Regent, her face stretched in terrible pain, her eyes turned to the mangled body of her son, lying among the corpses of his guards.
The woman, in a frenzy, not finding any whole weapons nearby, grabbed the helmet of one of the guards lying on the ground and, with a cry of fury that only a mother could utter, threw herself at him.
But before she could get close to him, his hammer crushed her chest, sending her straight into the wall, where she slumped dead.
It took him a good fifteen minutes to clear the keep. The terrified servants either scattered or hid in its nooks. The once-bustling halls now echoed with silence, punctuated only by the occasional drip of blood from his hammer. As he surveyed the aftermath of the carnage, a sense of grim satisfaction washed over him.
"I only hope those damned birds have reached the lords with the news. As soon as the Stormlands forces gather at Hayford, they will move on the Riverlands, taking the Dragon in their clutches from all sides.
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Dorne, Sunspear
Nymeria Nymeros Martell
Nymeria spent another morning going through documents. After the whole ordeal with the Valyrian lords and Neferion's show, she spent the next two days negotiating terms with representatives of Bracoos, Pentos, Myr, Tyrosh, and Lorath.
The golden-haired arsehole had set off almost immediately back to the Riverlands, leaving her to deal with the worst of it, which was dealing with politics and documents. She knew he hated politics and diplomacy so much, but he thought she loved it?
Irritably, she pressed her signet ring against the hot wax, sealing what she hoped would be the last document of the day. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"You may enter," she called.
Gareth, one of her guards, appeared in the doorway. "My Princess, Septa Tyene is here. She wishes to see you."
Surprised, Nymeria raised her eyebrows slightly. Wasn't Tyene supposed to have left the city yesterday with the other septons and septs, feeling persecuted and unable to live anymore... as she called it, in a 'nest of heresy'?
"Let her come in. I only hope it's important," she replied. If I ever need to demand punishment for enemies of her faith again, I'll throw her in the dungeon. On second thought, maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea. The members of her faith had been a nuisance these past few weeks.
Gareth left the room, and in his place appeared a young woman, not much older than herself. Her brown hair was tied tightly in a bun, but her green eyes gave her pause. Hadn't Tyene had brown eyes when she last saw her?
It must have been her tiredness showing. She had only seen the woman once before.
"Septa, how can I help you?" She asked, her tone making it clear that she didn't want to talk to her at all. "I was convinced that you had already left the city. Why the change?"
Instead of answering, the Septa walked over to the chair next to her desk and sat down without invitation.
She soon spoke up, but words she had not expected came out of her mouth. Her attitude was full of arrogance, but not of some fanatic, but of someone who had power and knew how to use it.
"I must admit that the stench of the dragon can be felt throughout this city, but in this chamber it is unbearable. Perhaps he spent a lot of time here, especially in this chair?"
Instinctively, the princess reached for the staff resting within reach of her hand, and as soon as she touched it, it was as if something clicked in her mind. Suddenly, the Septa was no longer sitting before her but an incredibly beautiful woman with auburn hair and incredibly green eyes in a flowing blue robe.
She emanated extraordinary strength, the kind that Nymeria had seen in one individual earlier. She had dealt with someone like Neferion, perhaps not as powerful, but from her perspective the difference was irrelevant to her.
"Who are you? Where did you come from?" she asked, tightening her grip on Wabbajack.
The woman laughed loudly; even her laughter was exceptionally beautiful. She was sure that it alone would stun most men and ignite lust.
"My little Nymeria." The other said after a moment, her voice silky smooth. "You really don't recognise me. Wasn't it me you prayed to a few years ago, when your old brothers were alive, for your father to choose a husband for you who wouldn't tie you to a leash and would appreciate your intellect and fighting skills? Wasn't it me you asked as a little girl to heal your cat Fluffy?"
A shiver ran through Nymeria, the truth hitting her with full force. She already guessed who this woman was. Neferion had warned her that they might make their move, but even he probably didn't expect them to take such active action.
"You are the Maiden. One of the Seven." She said, her voice trembling slightly. She was in the presence of a goddess after all, and one who had not come with good intentions.
Maiden looked at her, her eyes sparkling. "My dear Nymeria. You were one of my favourites. With your fortitude, intelligence, and strong mind. Your prayers brought me so much joy, and now... to betray us to this abomination, this false deity?"
Nymeria felt anger flare up inside her. "YOU… I BETRAYED YOU!?...I…!? NOW YOU DARE SHOW YOURSELF HERE!? WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MY LANDS WERE ATTACKED BY THE SERVANTS OF THAT UNDERWATER ABOMINATION!? FOR MILLENNIA, THE IRONBORN HAVE PLUNDERED OUR LANDS. WHERE WERE YOU THEN!?"
She jumped to her feet in fury, not letting go of the staff that could have been her only chance for survival.
"Now that someone else has answered our prayers and has come to our rescue in our darkest hour, you come to accuse us of some treachery!? You seven are pathetic! Guards!"
The goddess, however, did not look angry, only laughing lightly when her call to the guards went unanswered.
"My dear. No one will enter this chamber until we finish talking... Now tell me... Do you really deceive yourself that the Dragon, this Dovahkiin, could love someone like you?"
"Don't take offence, Nymeria, but the truth is that you are a mere mortal, while he, although I hate to admit it, is much more. You will die soon, maybe in 30 or 50 years at best, and him? If nothing kills him, in 1000 years or in 40 millennia, he will still be walking this earth."
The princess felt a lump growing in her throat, and tears began to gather in her eyes. The maiden hit her most hidden feelings and fears. She wanted to deny it, but she couldn't find the words.
The goddess approached her slowly and, placing a hand on her shoulder, began to whisper in her ear. "My little princess. Can't you see that he's toying with you? That he's found himself a useful tool. What will happen when he conquers Westeros? Do you think he'll need you? And even if he takes you to his bed? Why wouldn't he do the same to a thousand others? There's no shortage of beautiful women in this world, especially in Valyria?"
Nymeria looked at her clenched hand at Wabbajack. "And what do you expect me to do, just betray him? After all he's done for Dorne and its people? You must know me worse than you think if you think I'd put my own feelings before my own people."
"Do you know why my father gave me that name? I'm the first of my line to be named Nymeria because my father believed I would grow to be just as great a woman as my ancestor."
The Maiden watched her intently for a few seconds before saying, "Can't you see that the Dragon will bring ruin to Dorne? Enemies surround you on all sides now. And he left you here to fend for yourself. Defenceless. Now do you see how much he cares for you?"
Nymeria looked up at her and looked her straight in the eye, "Who said he left me defenceless, you whore?" She asked, but the goddess only had time to frown as the staff came between them, and a bolt of lightning shot from its tip, sending the maiden flying into the opposite wall.