24 23-A Crimson Twilight

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on the Harry Potter and A Song of Ice and Fire universes. All recognizable characters, plots, and settings are exclusive property of Joanne K. Rowling and George R.R. Martin respectively. I make no claim to ownership.

***

Acknowledgements: This chapter was edited by Void Uzumaki and Ashestodust. I also want to thank my beta-reader nicknm for helping me bounce ideas around.

***

This is probably the most disturbing thing I've written to date, so !WARNING! There is excessive gore and violence in this chapter (at least according to some, I don't think I went outside of the standard for the ASOIAF world).

***

Oldtown

Four days after the defeat of the Hightower Fleet, the sun was slowly setting in the west, bathing the thick cloudy sky in crimson. As the darkness gathered, an increasing number of city watchmen patrolled the streets and the people quickly headed home, unwilling to be caught outside after curfew. Everyone caught breaking it would spend a few very uncomfortable nights in the dungeons, being asked even more uncomfortable questions.

Ever since the Shields fell a few moons ago, Moryn Tyrell, the Lord Commander of the City Watch, had received orders from Lord Leyton Hightower himself to bolster their numbers and train his men extensively, and now they numbered just under four thousand. Each was clad in an arming doublet, and carried a short sword, a war pick, and a shield.

As soon as the news of the defeat of their fleet came, House Hightower called its banners. Three thousand men answered the call to arms from Oldtown in the first two days. A part of the closer bannermen had also arrived. All these men were under the command of Baelor Hightower, Lord Leyton's eldest son and heir. Now, the Baelor had seven thousand swords answering to him, without counting the men of the City Watch.

As the night gathered, all the city gates were closed. The moon had waned fully, no longer illuminating the night sky, and the starlight was blocked by thick black clouds. Slowly but surely, thick fog began to creep in from the west and envelop the city. Though it was common for fog to appear in the Whispering Sound in autumn, there was something insidious and dark about the mist this time. Something which unknowingly caused the inhabitants of the city to shiver. And not just from the cold autumn night this time.

The torches carried by the city watch barely burned with mute fire, scarcely lighting a scant few meters in the surrounding darkness. In the misty darkness, only a single light flickered weakly from the direction of the Battle Island. Atop the Hightower the beacon burned feebly with soft green flames.

The next hour was uneventful, until a few groups of men started sneaking out into the dark. Soon, the men set some buildings in the slums on fire, then near the warehouses, the Thieves Market, and even near the Citadel. The nearby City Watch patrols flocked to the burning buildings. Some of the troublemakers were quickly apprehended, while others managed to get away.

Hundreds of men were soon organised and were putting out the fires. Runners were quickly sent to Moryn Tyrell and Baelor Hightower to inform them of the situation. Upon hearing the news, the Lord Commander of the City Watch and the Hightower Heir unanimously decided to get their forces ready.

Under the cover of the night and fog, from the west, a fleet of ships was sailing quietly towards the mouth of the Honeywine. The fog was so thick that the invaders were not noticed until they had already passed the water entrance of Oldtown and were nearing the main docks. The alarm quickly rang, and men were sent to raise the chain. But by the time the city watch had started raising the chain to block the city's waterway, most of the Ironborn had already sailed in, leaving only a dozen or so galleys outside the city.

Half of them could not stop in time and crashed into the chain, capsizing their boats or cracking the hulls open, leaving only a small handful of vessels stranded outside of Oldtown. One of the galleys sinking was the ship of Harras Harlaw, the bearer of the Valyrian Steel longsword Nightfall. The man couldn't get out of his armour quickly enough and sank like a rock in the cold waters of the river.

Hordes of bloodthirsty reavers hungrily descended on both shores of the Honeywine. However, on the northern bank of the river, they were met with the Hightower Bannermen who were already forming up near the Guild Houses and on the southern bank, an endless amount of city watchmen gushing out of the barracks.

Silence, Euron Greyjoy's flagship, however, was not headed for any of the riverbanks but for the muted green light that flickered above through the mist. The terrifying red ship sliced through the waters of the Honeywine, followed faithfully by a dozen more longships bearing the golden kraken of House Greyjoy on their black sails.

On the prow of Silence, a naked and heavily pregnant woman was tied up and struggled in vain to free herself. She visibly began withering and her stomach swelled further. She opened her mouth to beg but only pained grunts came out as her tongue had been cut out. Euron Greyjoy, clad in his dark scale armour, slowly walked on the deck towards his former lover. The King of the Isles had a crazy smile on his face that would make one's skin crawl. His left hand moved stiffly, but his otherwise smiling blue eye had gone pitch black.

Thick darkness started to leak from between Falia's legs and she gave one final shout of agony before going limp. It was the kind of scream that would haunt most for years and echoed out where few could hear. Her stomach bulged, the flesh wriggling and writhing until it was torn open from the inside. A twisted thing with ten long arms made of shadow, rot, and blood dropped into the water.

Despite the element of surprise, the Ironborn stood little chance against the well equipped and organised Hightower men-at-arms. To the north, the forces under Baelor Hightower quickly formed up in tight shield formations, blocking the slippery street and slowly began to push and slaughter any Ironborn that dared to come their way, making blood flow freely on the cobblestones.

On the southern side of the river, where the main docks were situated, the City Watch did not fare as well. They did not manage to form up quickly enough and the Trader's Plaza was filled with chaotic fighting. It did not help that one could barely see more than five meters in the foggy darkness.

The twisted horror emerged wobbling from the waters on the rocky shore of the Battle Island. At first, each of its breaths were getting heavier and more pained. However, with each life taken in Oldtown the weakness fled the gait of the newborn terror, and as crimson stained the cobbled streets on Oldtown it quickly straightened and even began to grow in size. Its steps gained strength, speed, and confidence, and left black malignant indentations as it walked upon the rocks.

Moving unseen through the foggy night, it finally arrived at the docks. It stabbed through the chest of a nearby guardsman, piercing through mail as if it was not there. The man died, though not before a scream tore from his lips, alerting the nearby men-at-arms who flocked to the sound. The horror's long arms were like tentacles as they mowed down the incoming opponents with little effort.

A brave knight managed to slip around and tried stabbing his sword into the monstrosity, only to have the blade harmlessly bounce off its skin. The horror snarled in irritation and a tentacle made out of darkness snaked around and lifted up the unfortunate knight by the neck. The poor man's limbs flailed in the air for a second before a blood-coated and monstrous long hand ripped off his head.

The few men-at-arms who had come over and were close enough to see the nightmarish act through the thick fog decided to flee up the stone steps towards the Blackstone Fortress that served as the foundation of the Hightower. The terror quickly followed after them with inhuman speed.

On the northern side of the Honeywine, reavers continued disembarking and blindly rushing through the fog into the meat grinder. On the other shore, Moryn Tyrell had seen that the situation was slowly getting unfavorable and quickly rallied whoever could hear him to his side. With a lot of shouting the men near him formed up and steadily marched towards the thick of the fighting.

At the same time Silence and its retinue of ships finally arrived on the docks at the base of the Battle Island. The bloodthirsty reavers descended expecting a fight but found little. A few shaky guardsmen had come over to check what was causing the commotion earlier, but they were not enough to fend off the Ironborn.

The gate of the Blackstone Fortress was made of thick ironwood. The now seven feet tall abomination pounded furiously on it with its twisted limbs, but all the attacks bounced off harmlessly. After a few seconds the door still stood strong and the horror stopped. It then turned its attention towards the hinges, for they were made of ordinary steel.

The foul limbs angrily grabbed and ripped through the steel, making the gate fall, only to be met with a short passage blocked by a steel portcullis and a second ironwood gate. With a few tugs it tore the steel apart and soon it was at the entrance chamber, facing hundreds of Hightower guards, led by Ser Garth Greysteel, second son of Lord Leyton. As soon as it stepped over the fallen door, a soft hum was heard and the twisted horror grew sluggish. The demonic being roared and charged straight into the men.

On the docks of Battle Island, Euron Greyjoy and all of the men under his direct command had killed all of the opponents—as few as there were—and were quickly rushing towards the entrance of the Blackstone Fortress.

Atop the Hightower, a comely woman with long silver hair was chanting in High Valyrian and the signal fires behind her roared. Below her, in the Blackstone Fortress, the twisted horror slowed even further but was still slaughtering the Hightower guards.

Ordinary steel did nothing against the dark abomination, and the shields of the guardsmen were useless, and easily broke as if made of straw. Garth Hightower had hastily been given Vigilance by his father who was too old to lead the fighting. Thankfully, the Valyrian Steel sword managed to cut through the flesh of twisted horror, leaving black wounds oozing with rot and darkness. Another seven guards had died by the time Garth had managed to cut off three of the long arms of the monster.

It roared in fury and new tentacles made entirely out of darkness oozed from the wounds and grabbed the commander. He managed to cleave some apart with Vigilance, but two bloody arms of the abomination grabbed his wrists, restricting his movement. Two more terrifying limbs reached for his helmet. It was one made of the best castle-forged steel. During the whole time, all the men-at-arms were attacking the monster in a frenzy, but their weapons bounced off harmlessly. Just as his helmet was going to fold and make the head of the knight pop like a ripe watermelon, one of the guards struck the monster with a torch of fire. The thing recoiled and let go of Garth after giving out a pained roar.

"Flames are its weakness. Attack it with fire!" A shout was heard and soon men were attacking it with torches or even tossing the contents of the braziers towards the horror. It turned around and tried to run away but it had become slower than the guards. Seeing that escape was not an option, the horror turned around and lunged towards the guardsmen.

Atop the Hightower, Malora kept chanting, but blood began oozing from her nose, mouth, eyes, and ears. The monster kept growing bigger and more powerful, requiring more and more magic to keep it slowed.

Garth managed to regain his bearings and get up just in time to watch as the horror desperately grabbed more men and crushed their necks or pierced their bodies effortlessly. However, the men did not go down without fighting and soon, the monster was set aflame. As fire engulfed it, its furious roars turned into pained wails, and soon it fell to the ground, writhing in agony. The surrounding men cautiously moved away from it to avoid its deadly limbs.

Above, blood began to flow freely like a spring from every orifice of the silver-haired woman.

The Hightower knight sombrely looked to the ground as he stood with trembling legs. The fire that engulfed the monster started growing as it hungrily devoured the unholy thing. The price of defeating the demon was heavy- the floor was littered with scores of corpses. Nearly a hundred of House Hightower's finest laid dead on the cold stone. After a few heartbeats the flames were gone, and nothing but ash remained as evidence of the abomination's existence.

Just as Garth Hightower wanted to sigh in relief, the Ironborn rushed through the fallen gates, led by Euron Greyjoy himself.

On the northern bank of the Honeywine, corpses littered the streets and alleys and the Ironborn had finally realised that they were being slaughtered in the fog. They tried to flee back to the boats and the narrow alleys, only to be met with more steel. Baelor Breakspeak's seven thousand men moved through the cobbled streets with iron discipline and slowly encircled the docks. Some of the reavers could not even find their way back to the boats in the thick fog and were quickly slaughtered. Those who did wasted no time and sailed back west to the Whispering Sound, only to crash their ships into the raised chain.

On the other bank of the river the bloody fighting continued, but the City Watch led by the Lord Commander had finally begun pushing the Ironborn away.

With the gates ripped open, Euron's men flooded the Blackstone Fortress like a raging river. After the deadly encounter with the twisted horror, the defenders were too weary and disorganised to hold the entrance chamber and were easily overwhelmed. Garth Greysteel retreated into one of the hallways with some of his men. Soon fighting spread all throughout the foundation of the Hightower and many groups of reavers headed up towards the top.

The Crow's Eye followed by a hundred men quickly climbed the main staircase. A dozen guards had regrouped in an attempt to hold the stairs, but they were lacking in numbers. Euron threw himself head first into the enemy, cleaving through them with ease with the help of his Valyrian Steel sword. All attacks harmlessly bounced off his black scale armour. In less than two minutes, all the guardsmen lay dead, along with a couple of Ironborn.

In the south, the foggy Trader's Plaza was painted red with blood, and corpses littered the cobblestones. The only reason why the Ironborn were not completely pushed back was Denys Drumm and the unnatural mist. He was cutting through any City Watchmen with ease and the nearby Ironborn rallied to him. The fog made quickly forming up in a large formation nearly impossible. Just as the Drumm Lord saw the Lord Commander of the City Watch and started rushing towards him, a wayward crossbow bolt struck him in the eye, killing him instantly. Seeing one of the most respected captains fall, some of the nearby Ironborn started fleeing and the reavers began to lose even more ground.

Euron Greyjoy finally reached the top of the Hightower after fifteen minutes of climbing. Most of the Hightower guardsmen above the Blackstone Fortress had decided to hold the sturdy doors or narrow hallways instead of the wide main staircase, so the rest of his ascent was undisturbed. The men behind him were gasping for breath heavily, but the Crow's Eye was unaffected. He saw the bleeding body of Malora and casually kicked her over the edge. The men behind him tiredly carried up the six feet horn bound by red gold and valyrian steel.

He snorted quietly, looking at the horn. If only his foolish brother Victarion had not carelessly died of a festering wound, he would have Daenerys and her dragons in his grasp now. He signaled to his men to leave it here and guard the stairway entrance.

Thousands of Ironborn died unknowingly in Oldtown below, distracting the City Watch and the main forces of the Hightowers. But it mattered little now that he was here. All would soon bow to him. But first, he would make that stupid white mutt die in agony for wounding him. Even now, his left arm did not heal fully and hurt while moving it. The little doe would not escape him this time either and he would take her power for his own.

Euron grabbed the flask from his belt, uncorked it and gulped all of the contents in one go, leaving his lips tinted in deep blue. Euron removed his eyepatch, revealing another pitch black eye, shining with malice. He took off his glove and cut his finger on the edge of his valyrian steel blade, letting a few droplets of blood drop on the stone below him. Instead of splattering, they sank directly into the surface as if it was made of water. Ignoring the fog, the Crow's Eye looked north, towards Winterfell, and both of his malignant eyes glowed with power.

***

The world spun.

His form was now nearly twenty feet tall. His giant steps leaving darkness and rot seeping through the frozen ground as he neared the young sleeping doe. He willed the darkness to shroud the surroundings and prevent those meddlesome runic protections from activating. The Doe opened her eyes and they widened in fear but it was too late - there was nowhere to run now.

Just as he reached with his tentacle towards her something grabbed his snaking limb. A mighty hand had effortlessly clamped around his outstretched tentacle, its grip like iron, despite the obvious size difference. Above the offending hand, dark violet eyes angrily shone with power in the night. Rings of purple fire spread in the air, eating away at the darkness and revealing the stone walls covered in shining runes that made him grow sluggish. Across him stood a rather tall man whose mere presence made all his senses scream out in danger.

Euron tried his best to pull away his tentacle, but could not shake off the grip of the man in front of him.

He angrily pulled on his connection with the Hightower and tapped into the blood and death flowing around Oldtown. Before he could use the sea of power coursing through him, his captured limb was enveloped in an agonising violet flame which quickly began to grow, eager to consume him. He quickly severed his burning tentacle and tried to retreat and return to the real world. But just as the world was twisting, the hungry flames took the forms of direwolves and dragons and leaped after him.

***

Euron opened his eyes, realising he had fallen onto his knees. The air surrounding him simmered and the fiery dragons and direwolves appeared and lunged at him. With the help of the Hightower, he pulled on all of the death still happening in the city below and tried to drown the hungry purple flames in a sea of crimson tinted darkness.

At first, he thought that he succeeded, but a flaming maw tore through the malevolent veil, devouring it hungrily. He tried to get up and move to the Hellhorn—which was only a few yards away—but his limbs were heavy, and before he could even move half way, the cursed flames reached him.

Euron Greyjoy died, screaming in agony as the purple fire slowly incinerated him. After a few minutes, the Valyrian Steel scale armour and sword fell on the stones underneath with a clang. A soft sea breeze dispersed the ashes of one of the most terrifying madmen to ever walk the lands.

Most of the cursed flames had been successfully smothered by Euron's unholy veil of blood and darkness. The rest quickly looked around but saw no living prey and quickly dispersed.

Below, the fog surrounding Oldtown was quickly fading. On both shores of the Honeywine, most of the Ironborn that had landed were slaughtered and only a precious few had managed to flee back to their boats in the thick fog. The chain that blocked the mouth of the river prevented any of the ships from escaping from Oldtown and some of the fleeing reavers desperately jumped into the waters, hoping to swim away under the cover of darkness. The handful of Ironborn galleys that were left outside the city quickly fled into the Whispering Sound.

Only Euron's men in the Hightower itself were still fighting with some of the more stubborn defenders in the hallways, ignorant that their leader had perished and that most of their fellow reavers lay dead on the cobbled streets of Oldtown.

Baelor Hightower, whose forces had scarcely taken any casualties, quickly rushed towards the bridge leading to the Battle Island.

Thirty minutes after the death of Crow's Eye, all the Ironborn were finally defeated. In the end, less than a thousand men managed to escape from their original eleven thousand. From all the captains that followed Euron, only a few minor ones that were blocked outside by the chain survived.

Hundreds of longships and three scores of war galleys were trapped in the waters of the Honeywine.

But it was a costly victory. More than a thousand of the City Watch were dead, with many more wounded. Hundreds of the Hightower guardsmen were slain. Malora Hightower's bloody corpse had been found smashed upon the rocks of Battle Isles. It was only recognised because of her silver hair and the necklace that she always wore. Garth Greysteel was found heavily wounded in one of the chambers above, surrounded by two scores of corpses.

The Archmaester of Healing was quickly brought to treat Bealor's brother, but even he was helpless against the heavy wounds and stated that Garth would die within a day. Lord Leyton Hightower had perished fighting in the Hightower itself, defending his wife Rhea with three household guards till his last breath.

At the very end, Baelor wept tears of blood and vowed to put the entirety of the Iron Isles to the sword.

***

Cersei Lannister, Casterly Rock

Tommen's Hand, Devan Lannister, had urgently called for a small council meeting. She graciously moved towards the designated chamber, followed faithfully by the ever silent Ser Robert Strong.

The hulking whitecloak stood guard at the door as she entered the room. Inside, Devan Lannister, Littlefinger, Harys Swyft, and Ellard Crane were already seated around the table, waiting. The Lord of Red Lake was tall and wiry. His clean shaven face was always locked in a bored expression, and his head was covered by a sparse graying hair.

The weak and foolish Harys Swift had finally managed to return yesterday from Braavos by sea without encountering a single Ironborn ship.

"Devan, you called for a meeting?" She spoke as soon as she sat on the chair at the head of the table.

"Yes, news just arrived that Ser Jaime's forces had been defeated in battle near Stone Hedge," the Lord Hand said gravely.

Cersei felt as if her heart was stabbed and her strength began to leave her. If she was not sitting on a chair, she might have swayed and fallen. Despite Jaime's recent coldness, he was still her other half.

"D-Did my brother survive?" She asked with a trembling voice.

"Yes, Lord Commander Jaime managed to flee with a part of the cavalry. We know he's retreating to the Golden Tooth," Cersei's erratic heart calmed down a little at the news. "But our army is broken. More than half were killed or captured, and the rest fled chaotically."

"Wasn't Lord Commander Lannister's plan to bait and force Aegon to waste his strength besieging the keeps of the Riverlords?" Lord Crane asked.

"It was, but it seems that Aegon was not a fool. He left a thousand men to keep Lychester under siege and quickly chased after Jaime. The Lord Commander would have been able to retreat successfully if the rain hadn't muddied the section of the road he was on," Devan explained sombrely.

Cersei scowled. Her brother had grown weak- he lost every important battle in the last few years and now he was defeated by rain and mud. Perhaps even the Gods were not on their side.

"A pity, if he had managed to evade the Targaryen forces for another fortnight, Lord Rowan would have arrived with our reinforcements and pincered Aegon's forces," the new Master of Laws said regretfully.

"With more than half of our forces lost, even with the men from Houses Crane and Rowan, we do not have the numbers to give battle to Aegon anymore," Devan Lannister frowned.

An uneasy silence descended in the room while everyone was thinking.

"Lord Baelish, have you confirmed if Daenerys truly has dragons as the rumours claim?" Cersei asked. The news of Daenerys landing on Dragonstone with ten thousand slave soldiers didn't worry her much. Nobody would willingly support the Mad King's daughter in her quest for Queenship, especially with slaves and queer Essosi slaves in her ranks. But if she had actually hatched dragons as the rumours claimed, then Daenerys had become a thousand times more dangerous.

"Yes, all my sources confirm the sighting of dragons. Apparently, Queen Daenerys rides the biggest one daily," Littlefinger's oily voice grated in her ears. "I've found out that she has also arranged a meeting with Aegon."

The mood of the room dropped even further. If Aegon and Daenerys joined together, Cersei would be doomed.

"Any other news you want to share with us, Littlefinger?" Devan asked with a sharp glare. The new Lord Hand really did not trust Baelish, and rightfully so.

"Yes, I could finally confirm what has happened in the north. Sansa Stark and Jon Snow have taken Winterfell and House Bolton is now extinct. He has even declared himself as the King of the North," the Master of Whispers spoke evenly.

The name of the little bird made her blood boil. The little wolf bitch had somehow managed to survive and even return home.

"Was he not Lord Commander of the Night's Watch? How did he manage to get an army to follow him and take Winterfell when the keep is one of the hardest to take by storm? Who would even follow or pay homage to a Night's Watch deserter?" Lord Crane inquired.

"Some of the wildlings that he allowed to pass south of the Wall followed him along with the mountain clansmen. As for the rest - I simply don't know. It's hard to get precise news from the North, I get a lot of nonsense rumours and conflicting information and it takes a lot of time to find out what truly happened there. I doubt you want to hear how Jon Snow has been killed but even death refused to take him. Or how he controls giants, grumpkins and snarks and is the lost son of Rhaella Targaryen," Littlefinger replied sardonically.

Cersei snorted inwardly. But how had things gone so wrong? One moment, all of her enemies had been dead or had dipped their banners, and suddenly many more had crawled out of the woodwork. Now there were four Kings and a Queen again.

Euron Greyjoy, King of the Isles. Aegon Targaryen, the Pretender. Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter. Jon Snow, the bastard deserter of the Night's Watch. And finally, her son, Tommen Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Seven Kingdoms, the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men.

"If we cannot best our enemies on the battlefield, mayhaps we should hire the Faceless Men to dispose of the leaders? All the gold of Casterly Rock will not buy us enough swords to defeat their armies and dragons, but it would easily buy two deaths," Littlefinger proposed hesitantly.

"And suppose we hire those Faceless Men of yours to assassinate Aegon and Daenerys, how can we ship all the gold required to Braavos when the seas are crawling with Euron Greyjoy's reavers?" Daven snorted. "Who-"

Cersei tuned out the argument in the room as Petyr Baelish's words rang in her ears. Yes, fighting on the field against an overwhelming opponent with dragons was folly. Why fight when they could just order the deaths of the enemy leaders. The coffers of Casterly Rock had immeasurable amounts of gold. Without the Targaryens, the dragons would simply fly away and the men would squabble and disperse like the sheep they were. A plan quickly formed in her head.

She banged the butt of her cup on the table, halting the heated exchange.

"Send ravens all across Westeros, declaring Jon Snow an outlaw and a deserter of the Night's Watch. All the lords that support him will be stripped of all their titles and holdings by the crown. Whoever slays him will be richly rewarded with three hundred thousand golden dragons, a large keep, and a highborn maiden for a wife. The same will be the reward for the head of Sansa Stark who was complicit in the murder of King Joffrey Baratheon. Meeting dismissed, " she ordered and everyone quickly left the room.

This would be enough to teach those northern savages to not mess with a Lannister. Hopefully they would slaughter each other and not bother her or her son ever again.

She quickly signaled for a servant to fetch Lord Damion Lannister, one of her trustworthy cousins and the current castellan of Casterly Rock. Another sign and her ornate golden cup was filled with the finest Arbor Gold and Cersei slowly savoured the wine as she waited. In ten minutes, Damion arrived in the chamber.

"You called for me, Your Grace?" He asked, his voice raspy.

"Yes, Ser Damion. I have a very important task for you. You will travel to Braavos with the fastest Lannister ship, loaded with as much gold as possible, and buy the deaths of Aegon and Daenerys Targaryen from the House of Black and White," she said quietly as she twirled a strand of her hair with a dainty finger. "Not a word of this to anyone else. If you have any gold left after your trip to Braavos, continue visiting all the other known catspaw guilds and order the deaths of the Targaryens until you run out of coin. Lord Harys Swyft and his captain will accompany you and show you how to avoid the Ironborn on the way."

"It will be done!" Damion bowed and left her alone in the chamber with a jug of Arbor Gold. She generously refilled her nearly empty cup, toasted in the air and drank it one in one breath.