The Others
(Location: Crastors Keep)
(Time: Nightfall)
Daeron sank deeper into Craster's seat, his eyes locked on the swirling flames that offered a semblance of warmth and comfort. The relentless wind outside seemed to penetrate through the very cracks in the walls, intensifying its icy grip. He couldn't help but tense, feeling the weight of the impending conflict settle upon his shoulders.
Huddled together, their faces etched with fear, they awaited the impending conflict that loomed outside. The women scarred both physically and emotionally, had found solace in Jon's presence. They knew he had risked everything to rescue them from the clutches of their tormentor.
As the wind howled relentlessly, the women's eyes darted nervously towards the entrance, as if expecting an enemy to burst through at any moment. Jon, the embodiment of their newfound hope, shared their concerns. He knew that the Others would come, it was just a matter of when.
Gently, Daeron placed a reassuring hand on the shoulder of one of the women, his eyes filled with determination. He vowed to protect them. In his presence, they found a glimmer of courage, a beacon amidst the encroaching darkness.
As the wind abruptly ceased its relentless assault, a hushed silence settled over Craster's keep. The sudden stillness was met with a mixture of relief and trepidation. Some of the women, overwhelmed by the weight of the impending conflict, could not contain their fear, and tears streamed down their cheeks.
Daeron, sensing their distress, offered them a gentle smile filled with determination and compassion. With a calm and reassuring voice, he assured the women that he would take care of the situation, invoking a sense of trust and comfort "Don't worry ladies, I'll take care of it and be back soon"
His words resonated within the chamber, offering solace to those who had endured so much. Daeron understood the weight of responsibility that rested upon his shoulders, and he pledged to shield them from harm to the best of his ability. The women, their teary eyes meeting Daerons gaze, found a renewed sense of faith.
Daeron stepped out of the keep, his body seemingly impervious to the biting cold that enveloped the clearing. Despite the absence of physical discomfort, a subtle unease settled upon him. A prickling sensation crept up the back of his neck, as if unseen eyes scrutinized his every move.
Instinctively, Daerons hand moved to the hilt of his sword. With a fluid motion, he drew the blade from its scabbard, its Valyrian steel gleaming in the dim light. Gripping the weapon tightly, he scanned the surroundings, his senses heightened, and his gaze piercing the shadows.
The silence persisted, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the soft whisper of wind. Daerons heart pounded in his chest, attuned to the heightened alertness that coursed through him. He was no stranger to danger, but this eerie sensation of being watched added an extra layer of tension to the air.
Every fibre of his being urged him to remain vigilant, to be prepared for whatever threat lurked in the darkness. The weight of his sword in his hand served as a reminder of the responsibility he bore to protect himself and those who relied on him.
As he stood there, a solitary figure in the darkness, Daerons piercing gaze scanned the clearing. That's when he saw it, even in the darkness it seemed to glow with a blue otherworldly light. Daeron could feel the temperature drop even more as the trees in the surrounding areas seemed to frost over.
Old Nans' stories didn't do the creature justice, even after all Daeron had seen, seeing the visage of an Other this strangely beautiful but inhuman creature made Daerons heart race. Even from as far back as he was, he could see the creature's blue star eyes and the frosty fog coming off of it. In its hand as a sword that looked to be made entirely out of ice, it looked thin and sharper than any razor seemingly vanishing when looked at edge-on.
Daeron's grip tightened on his weapon, his resolve unyielding. The frigid air seemed to crackle with otherworldly energy as the two adversaries locked eyes. The Other's sword glinted ominously in the moonlight, reflecting a pale, ethereal glow that danced along its frozen surface.
Daeron recognized the gravity of the encounter—a clash against an ancient and fearsome foe. The very essence of this creature seemed to seep with a coldness that threatened to extinguish all warmth.
With a deft motion, Daeron readied his blade, its Valyrian steel contrasting with the Other's icy weapon. He braced himself, fully aware of the danger that lay before him, but refusing to yield an inch to fear.
A charged silence hung in the air, heavy with the anticipation of the impending confrontation. Daeron's senses honed, and he awaited the Other's first move, his instincts guiding him in this dance of life and death.
The sharp clash of swords reverberated through the air, producing a high-pitched whining sound that seemed to amplify the tension between Daeron and the Other. The Other's eyes, resembling distant blue stars, widened in genuine surprise, momentarily betraying a chink in its otherwise composed demeanour.
With practised finesse, Daeron twirled his sword in a mesmerizing display of skill, his movements fluid and precise. The blade whirled through the air, tracing elegant arcs and dazzling patterns as it spun around him. Each rotation was a testament to his years of training and unwavering dedication.
As Daeron unleashed a swift strike towards the Other, its supernatural reflexes and speed came into play. With uncanny agility, the Other deftly evaded the incoming blow, its body moving with an almost unnatural grace. It seemed to glide effortlessly out of harm's way, narrowly avoiding the impact.
Undeterred, Daeron followed up with a series of quick slashes and thrusts, his swordsmanship a testament to his honed abilities. But the Other matched him with its otherworldly prowess. It gracefully sidestepped, ducked, and weaved, evading each strike with an uncanny sense of anticipation.
When Daeron's blade did manage to find its mark, the Other's supernatural reflexes came into play once more. It raised its icy sword with lightning speed, blocking the incoming strike with precision and finesse. The clash of swords reverberated through the clearing, a testament to the Other's remarkable defence.
The exchange continued a dance of swift movements and calculated manoeuvres. Daeron pressed on, his attacks are relentless and determined, while the Other countered with a blend of agility and supernatural swiftness. It seemed to anticipate Daeron's every move, dodging, parrying, and countering with an ethereal grace that defied mortal limits.
The air crackled with tension as Daeron pushed the limits of his abilities, seeking any opportunity to breach the Other's defences. But time and time again, the Other's supernatural reflexes allowed it to twist away from danger or intercept Daeron's strikes with almost preternatural precision.
The clash of Daeron's twirling sword and the Other's elusive movements became a mesmerizing spectacle. It was a duel between mortal and supernatural, skill and otherworldly agility. Each strike and evasion served as a testament to their respective strengths.
'My fire magic would've come in handy right about now' Daeron thought to himself as he barely dodged a swing of the ice sword.
As Daeron unleashed a powerful side swing, his sword cleaving through the air with a determined force, the Other reacted swiftly. With an otherworldly strength, it intercepted Daeron's blade, forcing it upward in a display of formidable power.
Before Daeron could regain his balance, the Other seized the opportunity to strike. Its cold, icy leg connected with Daeron's chest in a bone-chilling impact. The sheer force sent him hurtling backwards, his body momentarily airborne before crashing onto the icy ground.
Gasping for breath, Daeron felt the numbing cold seep through his body, briefly stealing away his senses. Pain radiated from his chest, the impact leaving him momentarily stunned. He fought against the disorienting sensation, determined not to succumb to the Other's assault.
Struggling to regain his footing, Daeron pushed himself up from the frigid ground. He steadied his grip on his sword, refusing to let the pain or the cold dampen his spirit.
Daeron gets desperate and without thinking he slaps his hand on the floor drawing in his magic and he creates spikes of ice that rise from the ground and head towards the Other. But instead of impaling him the ice doesn't even break his skin, instead the other grabs onto the ice that Daeron created and seems it seems to be drawn into his body with the result being another who is now slightly bigger.
'What was I thinking! Using ice magic against an Other' Jon scolded himself as he got back into his fighting stance.
Daeron steeled himself for another round, his resolve burning bright. He knew time was of the essence, and he needed to bring this battle to a swift end.
In a blur of supernatural speed, the Other unleashed a powerful overhead swing with its icy sword. Daeron's instincts kicked in, and he swiftly parried the attack, deflecting the blade off to the side. Seizing the opening, he unleashed a side swing, but the Other leaned away with an unnatural agility, evading the strike.
Undeterred, Daeron capitalized on the Other's evasion. As the Other lunged forward, thrusting its sword towards him, Daeron reacted with lightning reflexes. He swung his blade upward, intercepting the Other's attack, causing its sword to be deflected off course.
With a split-second decision, Daeron seized the opportunity. Bringing his sword down in a powerful arc, he unleashed a devastating strike aimed at the Other's vulnerable belly. The impact was fierce, shattering the Other's icy exterior as Daeron's blade tore through its core.
A chilling cry pierced the air as the Other faltered, its supernatural form crumbling under the force of Daeron's strike. The icy fragments shattered and dispersed. Daeron had dealt a decisive blow, severing the threat that had loomed over him and those he sought to protect.
Breathing heavily, Daeron stood amidst the aftermath of the battle. The silence enveloped the clearing as he surveyed the shattered remnants of his supernatural adversary.
Now, as the wind whispered through the clearing, Daeron could sense the weight lifting, the impending conflict giving way to a newfound calm. The women back at Craster's Keep would finally find solace.
Daeron limped back into the warmth of Crasters keep the women hadn't moved and were still cowering never moving, as if staying still would make them unseen. The looks of relief on their face when Daeron walked in were evident, some even burst into tears at the weight that was lifted from their shoulders. Daeron could see a girl who had just given birth wasn't looking so well it seems she had just given birth and hadn't been allowed to recover properly.
Taking the thick cloaks off that he had been given by the Lord Commander he walks up to the girl, even with the fire in the middle of the room Daeron knew it was still cold, when he approached the girl he knelt and she flinched at him being so close. He didn't say anything just gave her a gentle smile before wrapping her up in the cloak giving her a bit more warmth.
"The Other is gone, it won't be taking your baby, rest easy," Daeron says gently as all the women sigh in relief. Though some of the older ones still look wary, they've not had good experiences with men with some only ever speaking to Craster as the Nights Watch brothers were not allowed to talk to them.
"Will you be taking us from now on?" One of the older women asked looking down at the floor, resigned to her fate.
Daeron limps to the seat he had previously occupied and sat down before saying anything.
"I will not, you're all free to do what you wish whether that be staying here, finding a clan or when the brothers return you can go through the wall and maybe live in the gift" Daeron replies to her shocking her. She believed most men would want to replace Craster, having access to nineteen women that he could mate with and access to food and some ales, a lot of the older women believed they'd be taken by a new master.
"I am sorry to impose on you like this but I am exhausted, I'll be gone in the morning," Daeron says as he slumps into the chair.
"Would you like to take Craster's bed?" One of the wives asked Daeron but he shook his head declining.
"Take the girl to it, she needs it more than I do, I'll be fine here but thank you," Daeron said before closing his eyes and drifting off almost immediately.
While the older women felt relieved at the kindness of the young man, a lot of the younger girls swooned when they got over the initial fear they felt when they saw Daeron's eyes they felt their hearts face when he looked at them with gentle smiles and his glowing blue eyes, Daeron was already a handsome man, his Targaryen features mixed with his stark colouring gave him a regal look, adding the otherworldly eyes that were like blue crystals they found it hard to look at him without blushing. It also helped that he was the first man in their entire lives to show them kindness.
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(High Garden)
Highgarden, the seat of House Tyrell in the Reach, was a magnificent castle that embodied wealth and beauty. It's fortified walls and tall towers stood as a testament to its strategic significance, while its meticulously designed gardens captivated all who beheld them. Fragrant roses bloomed in abundance, their colours intertwining with rare and exotic flowers, creating a breathtaking tapestry of scents and hues. Within Highgarden's walls, the interior exuded opulence, with grand halls, chambers adorned with fine tapestries, and artworks that told the stories of House Tyrell's illustrious history. Perched atop a hill, the castle offered commanding views of the fertile lands of the Reach, ensuring House Tyrell's prosperity through abundant harvests.
Highgarden, beyond its physical attributes, served as a centre of politics and diplomacy. It was within these grand halls that House Tyrell forged alliances, navigated the treacherous currents of the realm, and elevated their family's influence. The castle became a symbol of their ambition, as their cunning and sagacity were matched only by the beauty and riches that surrounded them. Highgarden stood as a beacon of power and prosperity, a place where the Game of Thrones was played with finesse and strategy.
Within the walls of Highgarden, the ancestral seat of House Tyrell, Olenna Tyrell, the indomitable Queen of Thorns, and her granddaughter Margaery Tyrell observed the training session of their beloved kin. Loras Tyrell, the dashing Knight of Flowers, engaged in a fierce display of skill and agility with his brother Garlan Tyrell. The clash of steel resonated through the halls, a testament to the Tyrell Brothers' dedication to martial prowess.
Olenna, her piercing gaze unwavering, leaned against the balcony, her wry smile belying a depth of knowledge and cunning. She revelled in the sight of her family's strength, as Loras and Garlan showcased their training and expertise. Margaery, radiant and proud, stood beside her grandmother, her eyes shining with admiration and love for her brothers.
Margaery Tyrell, the enchanting granddaughter of Olenna Tyrell, possessed a mesmerizing charm accentuated by her luscious brown tresses that cascaded in gentle waves, framing a face adorned with delicate features. Her doe-like eyes, wide and expressive, captivated all who had the pleasure of gazing into them, reflecting a depth of wisdom and warmth. Margaery's graceful figure, adorned in elegant gowns, moved with an effortless poise that seemed to command attention wherever she went. Her radiant complexion showcased a natural beauty, enhanced by a soft rosy glow that brought out the youthful vitality that emanated from within.
"You never answered my question Grandmother" Margaery states as they overlook the courtyard where the spar was occurring.
"Because it was a stupid question" Olenna replies bluntly sipping from a goblet of wine.
"I don't see how deciding where our family will stand in the coming days is a stupid question" Margaery retorts a frown marring her otherwise beautiful features.
"Our standing with the Baratheons will always be at the bottom, we never get invitations and have no one to represent us at court, but that doesn't mean we should side with the Targaryen" Olenna explains.
"If we formed a marriage alliance then our house would have its blood on the throne" Margaery states as she takes a sip from her goblet.
Olenna shakes her head with a sigh "That if the boy can win, say what you will about the Baratheons, but two of them are hardened war veterans and have complete control over the Royal Navy, Aegon is a green boy with no wars or battles under his belt, he has no dragons like his ancestor only the golden company and possibly Dorne"
Margaery sighs at the complex situation her family is in, she had heard stories of the eldest Baratheon child and would rather not have to marry someone like him, but then marrying a complete unknown like Aegon wasn't appetising either.
"What about the other son Daeron" Margaery says surprising her Grandmother.
"The bastard? You may as well marry a servant, he has no support not even from his uncle" Olenna states with a laugh.
"I just think it's strange, Stark had kept the secret for such a long time but when he comes back after a year of being who knows where he decides to tell the king, what could've changed?" Margaery asks looking at her grandmother who now had a thoughtful expression on her face.
"You're right, something must've happened in that year that made Stark consider him threat enough to tell the king," Olenna says thoughtfully.
Then Margaery looks back at her granddaughter with a smile "I also hear he is quite adept at capturing the hearts of maidens, mayhaps we should lock you away lest he steal your heart too" Olenna says drawing a melodious laugh from Margaery.
"I do find it strange both the princess and the Stark girls would want to go with him," Margaery says thoughtfully.
"You don't believe he kidnapped them," Olenna asks.
"It wouldn't make sense, he brought her back to Westeros and Winterfell only to kidnap her again, no it is a fallacy the girls are with him of their own free will" Margaery states getting a look of approval from her grandmother.
"You've convinced me that perhaps we should keep an eye on this Daeron, maybe there is more to him than meets the eye," she says while turning around and going into the keep.
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(Craster's Keep)
Daeron dreamed of winter, of the lands far to the north where warmth was but a distant memory, he dreamt of a small child who woke up in the storm of ice, alone. Her hair was pale as snow and her skin was like moonlight, her eyes glowed like blue stars. Daeron didn't know how much time had passed since the child had come into existence but for most of that time, she sat there alone.
With a gasp, Daeron woke up being greeted by the warmth and light of the flames, though what he didn't expect was a lot of the younger wives had taken to sleeping around his chair. Having gone through such an ordeal I'm so little a time they must've felt safer to sleep around Daeron.
Daeron stood up taking care to step around the sleeping forms of the girls, the dawn light was shining through the bottom of the door, so he knew it was time to leave. He opened the door quietly and stepped out in the crisp morning air.
One of the older wives was already awake and was tending to some of the pigs, she saw him and immediately went up to him.
"Are you sure you will not stay, I know the younger ones are taken with you" she stated.
"I need to reach the brothers of the watch in time, they're walking into a trap and will be slaughtered if I don't warn them, but fear not I promise I'll return and if you all wish we can go across the wall and find a new home for you," Daeron says in a serious tone getting a nod back, she stepped forward and hugged him and thanked him for all he had done.
Daeron continued on the path towards the watch, their tracks were easy to follow once the snow had been brushed off the earth. Daeron embarked on a relentless journey, his determination etched upon his face. With each stride, his boots pounded against the ground, leaving a trail of determination in his wake. The daylight illuminated his path as he pushed himself harder, traversing through dense forests, rocky terrains, and winding rivers.
Time seemed to blur as day turned into night, and Daerons pursuit continued undeterred. The moonlight cast an ethereal glow, guiding his way as he ran with unwavering resolve. His breath mingled with the cool night air, his heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of his feet.
Through the changing landscapes, Daeron never faltered. He pushed through fatigue and exhaustion, his will unyielding. the wild wind tousling his hair, and the pure focus etched in his eyes. Each step brought him closer to the sacred ground of the Fist of the First Men.
After a long and exhausting trek, Daeron had finally reached this long-awaited destination. The Fist of the First Men, a colossal mound rising defiantly from the barren landscape beyond the Wall. Its weathered stones, etched with the passage of time, carried the weight of countless generations. As one approached this sacred site, an overwhelming sense of ancient power washed over them, mingling with the crisp northern air.
The Lord Commander's Great Ranging established its formidable camp upon the Fist of the First Men. The camp sprawled across the rugged terrain, displaying a hive of activity as the men of the Night's Watch worked diligently to fortify their position. Timber was hauled and meticulously placed, mending the broken sections of the Wall with sturdy wooden supports. The resounding echo of axes and hammers reverberated through the air, as skilled craftsmen dedicated themselves to the arduous task of fortification. With every swing of their tools, the strength of the Wall was renewed, serving as a steadfast barrier against any wildlings that dared to attack.
Amidst the fortification efforts, the soldiers of the Night's Watch remained vigilant, keeping watch over the vast wilderness that stretched beyond the camp. The slope leading to the Fist was laced with treacherous caltrops, metal spikes intended to impede the progress of any unwelcome intruders.
Daeron rushed to what seemed to be a makeshift gate, though it looked like it would be more at home in a barn than in a fortification.
"Halt!" One of the brothers shouts as a few draw their bows and aim.
"I'm Jon Snow, I came with you on the ranging I got lost a few days ago, I need to speak with the Lord Commander" he shouted out, the brother looked at him suspiciously until one or the others next to him whispered in his here.
"Open the gate!" He commanded, Daeron rushed through the open gate, he assumed the Lord Commander would be at the top of the hill as it would provide the best strategic overview, so he ran up it sticking to the path and avoiding any caltrops.
He saw the Lord Commander overlooking what seemed to be an incoming snowstorm in the distance, he heard the loud steps of Daeron running behind him and looked back.
His eyes opening wide in surprise he approaches Daeron "Gods boy I thought you were dead, it was like you were spirited away, one moment you were here the next you weren't" Jeor says in surprise clasping his arm to help him up as he had fallen to the floor running too fast.
"Lord Commander, we need to leave now, the wildlings aren't coming but the Others are" Daeron shouts out incoherently, the exhaustion of having to run all night taking its toll.
"Calm yourself, my boy, we are perfectly safe up here, we can't leave regardless I've sent out scouting parties investigating nearby villages" Jeor states in his gruff voice.
"They won't be returning, Lord Commander you must heed me, if we don't leave it doesn't matter if we are fortified here, we will die" Daeron says severely.
"We have no information on what's occurring in these lands, you expect me to pack up and leave without getting anything from this ranging," Jeor says with a glare.
"What good will it do if we're all dead!" Daeron retorts, though he feels the temperature drop, that snowstorm that was in the distance has come a lot closer than it should've.
"It's too late… they're already here," Daeron says in a low voice as he and Jeor look at the storm hearing inhuman screeches contained within.
(AN: So guess I kinda goofed when I said the battle would be this chapter, my bad but it'll defo be the next chapter. Ngl I was tempted to do a big orgy scene but I remembered I wasn't writing a smut fic, anyways hope ya enjoyed the chapter)