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A raven haired beauty awoke with a gasp of air. Her violet eyes dilated and refocused before looking frantically around and instinctually gripping the side of her head the where ghost pain resided. It quickly receded and she took in her surroundings. She was in a forest that much was clear.

The only things she could remember was that she was in had been rescued from the clutches of Greyjoy raiders by a retinue of knights and escorted away by a septa before everything turned hazy and black.

She couldn't help but feel a dreadful feeling well up inside her as she further looked around.

The light skinned beauty stood on wobbly legs but hastily oriented herself before dusting her dress of dirt.

After she regained some semblance of her bearings, looked around and noticed several people loitering around the campfire.

They varied as a tavern of people.

One, a resolute man with an imperious gaze with regal robes but a hood shrouded his facial features.

The second, a woman who looked peaceful and serene in a white chiton leaving nothing to the imagination. Her face also shrouded but not by a hood but a by a radiant white light that seemed to only touch her and nothing else.

The third, another woman, however this one was elegant and beautiful in a very unnatural way, she seemed to be just in her twenties as she looked extremely young. Her face was also shrouded in a mysterious white light that touched nothing else.

The fourth and last woman in the group, was a cowled older lady with bloodied and bandaged eyes. She held a lantern at her side with a large hooked staff. She wore a tattered cloak and had dirtied white hair.

The next was a man clearly in shining silver armor that covered the entirety of his body and looking every bit the knight in a story. A large shiny broadsword rested on his lap with his helm covering the entirety of his face and a large red plume adorning the top.

The last being was a large burly and hairy man that glistened in sweat and grime. He wore a standard blacksmiths outfit, complete with oil and grease stained set of brown gloves and apron. The bottom of his face illuminated by invisible glowing hot coals while the top was shrouded in a thick hood. He wielded a hammer in one hand.

They seemed to notice her presence and as one turned towards her.

Her breath hitched and even though she could see none of their eyes, the power they seemed to exude was crushing in its weight.

She finally regained enough composure to ask them the question that burned in her mind. "Who are you?"

The only indication that seemed to present itself that her question was heard was a small puff of smoke that erupted from the burly man's mouth at his grunt and a giggle that escaped the youngest of the group.

"We are the Seven, as you peasants have deemed to call us." Answered the knight in an annoyed tone as a rock that appeared from nowhere was in his hand and he took to sharpening the large broadsword. She quickly connected all the dots from her few lessons with the septa when she was younger.

"There is only six of you."

At that the mouths of the Mother, the Maiden and the Crone frowned. While the Father and the Smith grimaced in annoyance. The only signal that the Warrior gave was that he stopped the action of sharpening his sword.

"Yes, the seventh that represents death is currently indisposed." The Father said with a dismissing hand. She missed the extremely brief contortion of muscles that indicated hesitation and anger in the Father's otherwise imperial figure.

She didn't notice how he didn't refer to the representation as the Stranger but instead she noticed the dreadful feeling welling up inside the pit of her stomach. She flicked her eyes towards the Warrior who had continued to sharpen his sword.

She made to leave, only to be halted by an invisible force that seemed to will itself into existence when the Smith raised his hand.

"Ah ah ah." The Mother whispered if a bit malevolently, as if catching prey that had attempted to escape. The finger she wagged only added to the insult.

The Maiden spoke. "Everyone on the Planetos believes you to be dead. Well those that matter at least." The honeyed voice of the Maiden, that was anything but innocent, crowed. She giggled into her hand. "We have plans for you and if rumor of your vitality were to reach the wrong ears." She paused and giggled once again. "Let's just say that wouldn't sit too well with us."

She could see that they turned once again and began going back to what they were doing before she had awoken, with the Father moving a little ways away and peering into the dark shadows beyond.

The fearful look in Ashara Dayne's eyes only grew as the scraping of the Warrior's sword and the hammering of the Smith grew louder with each pass and strike.


Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn and sister to the Beggar King, was not looking forward towards meeting the Khal.

She had heard the gossip, the stories of what the Dothraki hordes were like. Nomadic pillagers, raiders in every sense of the word. The infamous Horse Lords of Essos were not known for their tender mercies nor their humble chivalry.

And apparently, she was to marry Khal Drogo. The supposed Khal of Khals, under whom had formed the largest Khalassar since the Century of Blood, an armed force of forty thousand mounted warriors with the accompanying families, slaves and livestock.

To say she wasn't scared would be like saying Viserys didn't want anything to do with the Iron Throne or the Seven Kingdoms.

An outright lie.

But Viserys would unleash the dragon, as he called it, should she even show the slightest bit of hesitation or defiance.

She could feel the stinging pain on her nipple when Viserys had pinched her roughly when he was informing her of the imminent arrival of the Khal. She had been about to take a steaming hot bath when it had happened.

Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise? Her optimistic thoughts spoke against the cloud of fear but were quickly shrouded again. No blessing she could think of could be found in the company of the Dothraki.

The only solaces she found were in the rare times Jorah would regale her with stories of Westeros and the few books he had on the land that was so far out of reach.

Her thoughts turned to the matter at hand, however. She was in the porch of the Magister's manse waiting with Viserys and Illyrio for the Khal. She wondered where Jorah was as he was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard of Viserys and with all the people milling about the courtyard, there shouldn't be any reason he is not here.

"Where is he?" Viserys harshly whispered to Illyrio, breaking Daenerys from her thoughts. Her brother's hand was gripping a golden hilted sword at his waist tightly making his knuckles turn white.

Illyrio smiled lightly, in a manner that showed as if he were talking to a simpleton. Viserys didn't notice it. "The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality."

As if being summoned, four riders came riding in with masterful skill, causing the magisters milling in the courtyard to hurry and stumble to avoid the uncaring men.

Illyrio greeted them in a grand manner with his arms raised. Daenerys observed the riders. Three looked similar to each other with sun-kissed skin with a single long raven haired braid that stretched no farther than the middle of their backs. They wore tight leathers and furs.

Their was one she spied that stood out from the others however. On top of large brown heavily muscled horse was the largest man she had ever seen in her life. A man as equally muscled as the horse under him with his eyes and attention on her and not on the flowery greetings of the magisters around him. His muscled torso was covered in stripes of blue war paint and everything about him radiated danger.

His braid was even longer than the other three and hung loosely past his waist.

She didn't even realize she was moving forward until Viserys' hand snapped forward and took hold of her own. "That's Khal Drogo." He said in an awe if quite a bit of a dismissive tone. His eyes flicked towards the one that was analyzing everything about her and than back down to her. "You see his braid?" She nodded slightly watching the mesmerizing sway of the long braid. "It's the longest there is, they say. You see, the Dothraki only cut their braid if they lose a fight to show their defeat. He never lost a fight if its gotten that long."

She looked to Viserys at that as she could've sworn she heard a bit of admiration for someone else. "He is still a savage but one of the finest killers out there." He exclaimed quietly with a manic glint in his eye.

"Come girl." Illyrio announced sweetly and gestured for her to come. Viserys let her hand go where it returned to its place on the handle of the sword in an iron-like grip.

Daenerys took small meek steps towards the magister who gestured her towards the Khal. She went over with her eyes gazing towards the floor before turning upwards to meet the volcanic ash eyes of the Khal.

After what seemed like an eternity, he grunted, turned his steed and left with two others following closely behind. One, however, lingered behind but was watching her. For all intents and purposes, he looked normal. Nothing out of the ordinary and with a snort of derision, he too left.

Had Daenerys been looking towards Illyrio, she would've seen the Magister's eyes narrow something she would've never seen the grace the portly and optimistic man ever before.

But her meekness prevented it and her eyes cast downwards before she noticed anything else out of the ordinary.


Myrcella Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms walked slowly towards Harry's solar. Her thoughts turned towards her betrothed and what led her to this.

When the Royal entourage entered the Moat and her father, along with her betrothed and her soon to be good-uncle went to the crypts as was an apparent if unspoken tradition in the North that the dead be respected before any sort of business be done. She noted this whenever a Northern lord visited Winterfell or the rare occasion Hadrian and she visited another lord.

She had been left with nothing to do except bear the scrutiny of her mother who insisted on interrogating her on the past few years.

The Queen was anything but subtle in her attempts at degrading her.

Myrcella thought attempting was an apt description of the action as she had gotten further independent when she was away from the vulture. Her attire and attitude was proof of that. Gone was the meek and glass doll that was Myrcella that was dressed in golden dresses befitting of someone of her status. In her place was a responsible, if a bit wild Myrcella in leather tunics and cotton wool dresses.

Her royal wardrobe was laying forgotten and gathering dust in several large strongboxes at Winterfell.

She and Jeyne Poole, her handmaiden from Winterfell were quickly ushered towards a stitching room where Sansa, Arya and Joanna were stitching with the hawk that was Septa Mordane as the teacher.

Myrcella was subject to a quiet torture as she bore the brunt of fake compliments from the Septa.

She knew they were fake as her stitching looked no better than Arya's who received nothing but back handed compliments from the devil that was Mordane. Joanna and Sansa received legitimate praise as their stitchings were actually pretty good. Jeyne's were actually the best but she was ignored in favor of the nobles.

After that affair she and Jeyne went to wait by the crypts for her father and her betrothed.

A gust of cold wind sent chills up her spine and ill feeling took hold of her. She wasn't the only one, as the Kingsguard guarding the entryway instinctually gripped their swords and Jeyne looked worried.

After a few minutes of an uneasy wait, a rough looking Hadrian Stark exited. Upon seeing him however, she lit up and smiled brightly. She knew something was wrong when he offered a strained smile in return and politely excused himself. Before heading towards the castle.

A furious Robert and an equally irate Eddard followed quickly but upon seeing her, quickly schooled their features, and offered each other pleasantries before they too excused themselves. She also left but not before spying a mass of Cailstark and Stark men at arms move towards the crypts being led by none other than Ser Barristan the Bold.

Whatever had happened in the crypts to warrant such a response should've dissuaded any curiosity.

But a lingering thought in her head made her want to find out about it. Her betrothed should be able to trust her with such things now. After all, if it was enough to concern the ever grim and serious Ned, a King who was typically uncaring for such matters and Harry, who never was unsettled by just about anything than she should be privy to the matter.

At least that was what her mind reasoned.

With a fragile plan to confront Harry, she made her way to the castle and up its endless steps towards the solar that Hadrian had took command of upon his arrival to the Moat.

The corridor to the solar was surprisingly empty of guards, where Harry typically had at least one even at Winterfell in front of the room. From within the room she heard a multitude of voices she didn't recognize and only one she did.

Her curiosity getting the better of her, she listened closely and cracked the wooden door minutely and peered in seeing an unexpected sight.

Several cowled men in brown and tan colored robes sat around a large oval table that should've been to large for the room. All sat in brown polished oak high chairs with Hadrian in his brown boiled leather armor and a wolf pelt cloak adorning his shoulders.

In all the room should've been much to small to accommodate all the occupants as well as the furniture inside but while that lingered at the back of her mind, she instead listened to the conversation that was being led by Hadrian.

"…so we have no clue as to what could've done this?" One of the cowled men with a high voice asked and as she adjusted her sight better, she noted he was a she, if the curves underneath the robes were anything to go by.

"I have my suspicions." Harry replied, if a little downtrodden. "The White Walkers, I know of to be the only ones capable of doing this but this far south of the Wall doesn't make sense. We would've seen the signs of their return if they ventured this far and I believe I would've sensed some semblance of magic should they have been close. Other than that we have nothing else to go on."

White Walkers? Her mind worked overtime to find what that was before it landed on an old nursery story that she had heard Jeyne talking about. Heralds of ice and creatures of death told to children as bedtime stories to keep them behaved.

The entire group hummed, murmured or nodded their agreement. "A Man has a report from the spy of a Bear and Dragons." A silky voice that bore the accent of the east spoke. "A Man confirms that the Bear consorts with a Dragon and a Magister of Pentos. A Dragon are to treat with a Horse and obtain an army of such. A Dragon plans to wed a Horse as payment."

Hadrian wasted no time in responding where Myrcella thoughts turned jumbled at the poetic speak. "Jorah is a fool if he thinks the Viserys is going to benefit him however, keep an eye on the event. If the plan carries through and Viserys gets his army then Westeros will be ready but just in case have Khal Khoran double his efforts, should such a thing come to pass, he may be needed now more than ever."

"The Wolf has spoken and a Man will see it done." The man spoke.

"What of our dealings in Volantis?" Harry asked while twirling a finger on the rim of a simple metal goblet. Myrcella decided more research into Essos was in order.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the woman that spoke in the beginning. "It appears that a ship was able to sail away with a Priestess where she goes we do not know but we managed several deaths in their staff. This happened a single moon ago."

She didn't see Harry's head nod but she could hear the agreement in a hum that emanated from him. "One priestess shouldn't be too much of a concern. Focus on the temples in Volantis, the sooner the Red God is dealt with the sooner we can deal with the Seven."

"Of course, Champion of Death." The woman seductively added and Myrcella felt a contraction in her chest. Jealousy decided to rear its ugly head at that, Myrcella needed to leave before she made herself known.

And so she did with a hundred thoughts in her head.

There was so much to research and find out about with the first and foremost being…

Champion of Death?


Hello! Sorry about the wait, as a few of you already know with the few PMs I was able to respond to my work had and will have me traveling out of town for extended periods of time. As such I apologize for such a hiatus and will endeavor to update as much as possible however I make no promises.

I would also like to thank those that brought a story that plagiarized a couple chapters of mine own to my attention, action has been taken and we will see where it goes. Hopefully such a matter is resolved quickly and peacefully.

Until Next Time!