Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"The dark side offers power for power's sake. You must crave it. Covet it. You must seek power above all else, with no reservation or hesitation."
Darth Revan
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no fear; there is power.
I am the Heart of the Force.
I am the revealing fire of Light.
I am the mystery of Darkness
In balance with Chaos and Harmony,
Immortal in the Force
Je'daii Order Code
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Westeros, Crownlands
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Rhaegar Targaryen
He feigned interest as he watched the infantry duels unfold in the arena below, while his mind was elsewhere. A sea of worries plagued him, mostly centered on what was happening across the sea, in Essos. Raevan claimed to sense the approaching war, while they remained blind. It was likely that his Master of Whispers was a traitor.
He'd kicked himself for not getting rid of Spider early in his reign, but Varys, with his network of spies scattered across Westeros and across the seas, had been incredibly useful during that turbulent period. Now that decision was coming back to haunt him.
He applauded in approval as Arthur skillfully dispatched his opponent, Ser Patrek of King's Mountain, before his thoughts returned to the problems consuming him. At his son's request, he had left Varys to him, believing that with Force, as he called his magic, he would be able to extract the information they needed from the eunuch.
Enemies within, enemies without, enemies everywhere. Their growing prosperity attracted too much attention. Their treasury, despite numerous investments, was bursting at the seams like never before in their history. Their House's reputation was beginning to grow, and even Aegon V the Unlikely, with his reforms, was not as popular among the smallfolk.
He had no illusions that there wouldn't be those envious of their growing prestige and wealth. Especially among the Free Cities, as his son, with his new glass, had practically launched an economic attack on Myr, which, while still trading in its glass, had lost most of its buyers to House Targaryen.
The same was true, to a lesser extent, of the other cities. Each suffered in some way from Raevan's new discoveries and inventions, such as Norvos, famed for its steel and master smiths. Many of Norvos's most distinguished craftsmen now worked for his son, carrying out his designs, with vast resources of raw materials, superior tools, blast furnaces, and almost unlimited funding.
His and Lyanna's son was the main reason for and the face of their success, their pride, and the hope of their House. That didn't mean Raevan couldn't give him gray hairs. Perhaps his most irritating trait was his secrecy and his tendency to keep his plans to himself, even those directly concerning the Seven Kingdoms.
Rhaegar usually found out about everything by accident or after the fact, usually when Willas informed him about the expenses and income in the kingdom's budget.
Therein lay one of his greatest problems. While Aegon was officially the Crown Prince, Raevan acted as one. This sparked dangerous thoughts in his own mind. Thoughts that could very well lead to another civil war.
No. His sons wouldn't pit themselves against each other. Raevan might not be as close to Aegon as he was to Rhaenys, but they loved each other as brothers should. On the other hand, that didn't guarantee that this wouldn't change in the future.
Sometimes a single act could shatter family relationships and turn love into hatred. Like, for example, neglecting an older son in favor of a younger one.
Another problem was Raevan's magical powers. The Force. How would the realm react when they learned of them? How would Faith react? Especially since he clearly saw that as time passed, his son was becoming less and less secretive about his abilities. He even suggested telling the rest of the family about them.
Rhaegar himself sometimes had difficulty communicating with his younger son after he revealed that his dreams weren't visions, but memories of a life he'd already lived.
And though he only knew the details Raevan had revealed to him, he understood that that world was drastically different from their own. He understood that with each recurring memory, behind his son's face lurked the powerful mind, older than himself, of someone whose power and knowledge would make even the Dragonlords and sorcerers of Valyria envious.
This was especially evident in recent weeks. Some of his son's subtle mannerisms disappeared, and others emerged. He saw how, despite his outward appearance of calm, Raevan always remained alert and alert, his eyes often roaming the room he was in.
This was not the behavior of a prince in times of peace but of a warrior who had experienced war. And though he had come to terms with this, and it hadn't changed his feelings for his son, he feared the others' reactions. How will Lyanna react? Although she was probably the first to notice the changes taking place in her firstborn.
Before he knew it, the first round of foot duels was behind them. 128 fights, fought four at a time, were over. As expected, his Kingsguard and his younger son easily advanced. After all, the ladder was designed to ensure that the best knights would face each other in the later rounds, where the duels would be fought individually.
The arena erected for this event, just outside the southern city walls, was a massive wooden structure capable of seating thousands of people. The royal box itself housed not only the royal family but also the most important guests, Prince Bu Han of Yi-Ti, the Lords of the Small Council, Lord Mace Tyrel, the Starks, the Martells, and the Sealord of Bravoos.
He rose from his seat, followed by Ellia and Lyanna, then everyone else. Right next to the arena, the grounds were filled with servants and tables laden with food. A similar, much larger area, filled with lesser-quality food, was on the other side of the arena, where the smallfolk could eat their fill, all from his younger son's pocket.
This was another element of Raevan's game, as he saw an advantage in their House's high popularity among the smallfolk. He himself was more skeptical. The people were generally sympathetic to the government as long as their bellies were full, or at least they weren't starving. After that, the ruler's previous actions were irrelevant.
But if his son wanted to do this, he wasn't about to interfere. The next half-hour was his least favorite part of ruling. Exchanging endless pleasantries with a stream of lords, merchant princes, and all manner of other high-ranking figures, all the while maintaining a smile and feigning concentration.
This didn't mean he was bad at it; quite the opposite. The same was true for Raevan, who, however disdainful he might be about politics, could be a master of manipulation and pretense when he wanted. And these were undoubtedly the pillars of politics.
Lost in thought, he barely noticed Prince Bu Han approaching him, flanked by several of his most trusted men.
The heir to the Imperial throne, despite his youthful face, was older than Rhaegar himself and surprisingly tall for a Yi-Ti resident, who, even judging by the retinue that had arrived with him, was generally of a smaller build than the inhabitants of Westeros or Western Essos.
The prince, however, was his equal in height, though his slim figure and delicate, calloused hands suggested he had no battle experience. Rhaegar wondered if his son had made the right choice in meddling in the internal politics of the Golden Empire.
The opponents of the Imperial throne seemed to be in a much better position. Pol Qo, called Hammer of the Jogos Nhai, a distinguished general with the Northern Armies behind him, and of course, the famous nameless sorcerer, proclaiming himself the last surviving member of the Yellow Emperor dynasty, of whom even his son was wary.
"Your Majesty," the prince addressed him with a seemingly surprisingly sincere smile and surprisingly good common tongue, though traces of an accent were still audible.
"These are wonderful celebrations; this tournament, as you call it, promises to be exciting."
Rhaegar nodded in thanks. "Prince Han, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself. I promise, this is only the beginning. We still have almost a full moon of celebrations ahead of us."
The prince smiled faintly at his words, then replied, "I can't wait. But I don't intend to take up any more of your time. I was hoping you'd be able to direct me to your son. Prince Raevan is hard to find."
Rhaegar sighed inwardly. Of course, he wanted to talk to his younger son. He probably wanted to start a discussion about their plans and a potential alliance.
He should probably look into negotiations, but honestly, he didn't want to. Once they had reached an agreement, he would question Raevan for details.
As for his son's whereabouts, Raevan probably decided to address Varys's situation.
"Unfortunately, I don't know where my son has gone," he replied, shaking his head. "Raevan rarely tells me what he's doing. His mind is full of plans and new inventions."
He then turned to Arthur, who was standing behind him. "Ser Arthur, find my son and inform him that the prince is searching for him. Ser Barristan will handle my protection."
His friend simply nodded with a curt, "As my king commands." Then he disappeared into the surrounding crowd, leaving him in the care of Ser Barristan and a dozen Dragon Guards.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Raevan Targaryen
His tent was practically empty, save for a simple table, two chairs, and a rack for weapons and armor. He sat alone, waiting. After finishing his fight with a young Hedge Knight from the Reach, he had sent Mark, one of his men, to find Varys and bring him to him.
He had long considered what to do with the eunuch, but he hadn't yet made a decision. Everything depended on what he learned from him and on what the Spider knew in general.
He had spent nearly an hour waiting, meditating, planning, and struggling to keep the part of himself that simply wanted to kill Varys from dominating.
His only companion was Ghost, the small direwolf pup he'd received as a gift from the Starks, currently wrestling with a bone larger than himself in the corner of the tent. The sight brought a smile to Raevan's lips, and his mind wandered to the bond they shared through the Force, which radiated an indescribable warmth.
The direwolf's red eyes glanced at him for a moment, but a moment later they returned to the bone his still-weak jaws were trying to crush.
Ghost was clearly smaller than his siblings—a runt of the litter, as they say. However, he hoped that with time he would grow without difficulty.
When the eunuch finally arrived, however, he was completely composed. The tent flap lifted, revealing the pockmarked face of his guard, followed by the Spider himself.
"Leave us, Mark," Raevan ordered, to which the man immediately left the tent with a bow and the words, "As you command, my prince."
Then Raevan's gaze fell on the eunuch, who, though seemingly calm on the outside, radiated nervousness and a great deal of fear.
However, he doubted the eunuch had expected why he had summoned him here. Varys had been around him like this all the time lately.
"My prince. You summoned, therefore I am," Spider addressed him with a fake smile that didn't reach his eyes.
Raevan, however, didn't try to be polite. He hadn't summoned him here for a chat but to interrogate him and gather information.
"You came because you have no choice. When the master calls, the servant answers," he said coldly, glaring hard at Varys, who visibly sombered at these words, probably sensing that something was wrong.
"Of course, Your Highness. I am here to serve you. What can I do?" Spider replied lightly.
"Can you at least tell me what a master should do when a servant betrays him?" He replied with a raised eyebrow, looking directly into the eyes of the eunuch, who paled visibly, fully understanding the implications of his words.
"My prince. I take it that's a rhetorical question, unless we're talking about a specific person?"
"Let me tell you something..." Raevan replied to him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Varys, Master of Whispers
When one of the prince's men, Mark, bastard son of Lord Maidenpool William Mooton, found him, he was on his way to a meeting with one of his allies. Now, however, Leorio, brother of the Archon of Tyrosh, would have to wait for him.
Rather than risk detection by gathering together, they decided it would be better to meet alone to arouse less suspicion. Especially since Varys felt watched, even though his little birds hadn't spotted any of the prince's men nearby.
For all his cunning and powerful intelligence network, he knew something was happening at Red Keep that he didn't know about, and it directly concerned the king's younger son.
Raevan Targaryen was, in every respect, too brilliant, too perfect. His inventions, ideas, sharp martial mind, and social skills couldn't be concentrated in one person. Especially since the prince hadn't always been like this.
True. He began walking and talking earlier than his older brother, and the same with early learning to write, but the gap between him and all the other children only began to widen around the sixth day of the prince's name day.
From then on, all their plans were dashed before they could even consider implementing them. To their horror, under Rhaegar's guidance and the prince's brilliant ideas, House Targaryen began to regain its former strength.
This time, however, it was not due to dragons but to the mind of a child. Where their ancestors had kept the lords in check through terror, but through the latter's greed. The lords had no need to seek the downfall of a House that guaranteed not only peace but also prosperity.
Yes, the royal family had grown immensely wealthy in recent years, but so had the Seven Kingdoms themselves and the lords, especially those closely supporting the Targaryens.
Varys watched with growing desperation and growing anger as the second prince matured, becoming the face of his House. And the only consolation was the fact that he wasn't the heir to the throne. But that wasn't comforting at all. Aegon the Unlikely was eleventh in line to the throne and became king.
Varys could only guess what the prince might want from him at such a moment, as he usually had no contact with the boy outside the Small Council chamber.
Although calling the prince a boy wasn't the most accurate description, he had a presence more powerful than many a battle-hardened commander.
Frankly, in recent moons, every conversation they had had reminded him of Aerys's time and how tiring and dangerous it had been to navigate the Mad King's concourse.
But where his grandfather had been simply mad and unpredictable, Raevan was simply cunning and dangerous, seeming to play the cyvasse game and always be several steps ahead.
Varys feared that without the powerful support of their new allies, he and Illyrio would have to abandon any dreams of placing Aegon on the throne.
The League of Free Cities as they called themselves, could indeed win the coming war. He just had to ensure that they themselves benefited most from it.
Before he knew it, he found himself before the prince. Inside the tent, the only other person present was Raevan's small direwolf, which he had received from the Starks.
The prince's first words surprised him, and his anxiety deepened. He began to wonder what game he was playing, but the next words chilled his blood.
"Can you at least tell me what a master should do when a servant betrays him?"
"Impossible," he thought, searching for another meaning to this statement. "There's no way they knew. How? Unless it's just suspicion."
He didn't know how to even respond, so he started playing for time, "My prince. I take it that's a rhetorical question, unless we're talking about a specific person?"
The prince's gaze became even more icy, if possible, and he felt as if he were facing something truly dangerous.
"Let me tell you something..." Raevan replied to him. "But first, sit down," the prince ordered, but he, feeling increasingly like a caged animal, had no desire to get any closer.
Shaking his head slightly, he replied with a smile plastered to his lips, "Forgive me, Your Highness, but I will stand. Sleepless nights, more things on my mind than usual are kicking my ass... I feel that if I sit down, I won't get up again."
"Sit!" the prince's voice rang out, soft as the whip's whistle, yet strong as thunder, carrying something more than human authority. Without knowing how or why, but against his will, his body took two steps forward, and he sat down in the chair.
When he tried to stand up, he failed, for it seemed as if an invisible force was pressing him against the chair. And when he tried to speak and opened his mouth, he felt an invisible hand tighten around his throat, stopping his air. But a moment later, he could breathe again.
His heart began to pound, and terror began to creep into his mind. He was certain the prince had used some kind of spell against him. He had only experienced something similar once before, when he met a representative of their mysterious allies.
Those Who Dwell in Shadow. The brotherhood of sorcerers from Asshai. Practically ruling that land. Illyrio had described his encounter with them in similar terms.
But what could the prince have in common with them? Or was magic the only common thread?
"Now, listen carefully, Varys," the prince said, his tone seemingly light, even friendly, but beneath it lay steel. "I went to Kingswood tonight to track down bandits who attacked a merchant caravan from the Reach. You'll never guess what they sang to me."
Varys's mind was lost in a tangle of racing thoughts. There's no way the prince could have found the mercenaries hired by Illyrio so quickly. Not so quickly.
'Fool,' he thought, 'Raevan clearly possesses some magical powers. After all, he has the blood of Valyria and the Kings of Winter flowing in him, a mix never seen before. It's possible he's awakened some strange powers.'
The question remained what the mercenaries had told him. But unless their commanders had spilled the beans to their men, Varys doubted the prince knew of his involvement.
But another disturbing thought entered his mind: "Was Raevan capable of defeating several dozen mercenaries? If so, he was more dangerous than they could have imagined."
"I don't know what you could have learned from the bandits, my Prince. That they weren't acting alone, but were part of a larger group?"
"Haha. No," the prince laughed, though there was no humor in it. "They told me what was happening in Essos. " And then one visit to the port confirmed it. Something our own Master of Whispers didn't do. And that leads me to two conclusions. Either you're incredibly incompetent, Spider, which I don't believe. Or you're a traitor."
Varys felt his tongue catch in his throat, wondering how he was supposed to respond to the fact that the prince was accusing him of treason, and he was right. How could he redirect this conversation? How could he dismiss this suspicion?
"Your Highness, I'm convinced this is a mistake. I did indeed hear sporadic reports from the Free Cities about some kind of armament, but I assumed it was probably internal clashes between the cities." He tried to explain, though even he sounded weak.
Raevan raised an eyebrow. "And I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked with obvious amusement. "Even so, you have a duty to inform the king and the Small Council of everything, even if the Triarch of Volantis gets a bout of diarrhea. It's your damned duty!"
He almost shouted the last sentence, and all remaining composure vanished from Varys, as he felt invisible tentacles reaching into his mind, much like they had with one of the representatives of the Asshai brotherhood.
The prince leaned toward him and said in a commanding tone, "Tell me everything about your betrayal and your accomplices."
Varys felt a strange urge to answer satisfactorily and confess everything to the prince. He had just opened his mouth when a black fog clouded his thoughts, and pain lanced through his mind. He clutched his head with a scream.
After a while, the pain subsided, but he still saw spots before his eyes. What was it? Was Raevan using magic to force him to speak?
He realized he was kneeling on the ground, and the prince was standing right in front of him, glaring at him with obvious irritation.
"Who? What sorcerer are you in league with? I won't ask twice." Raevan's voice was filled with quiet fury, and Varys felt his stomach twist. Those Who Dwells in Shadow must have done something to his mind with his magic.
Varys hated magic and felt like vomiting at the mere thought of someone having access to his thoughts. But he wasn't going to make life easy for the prince. If he had to die knowing he wouldn't betray Illyrio and Aegon, then so be it.
"No..." he rasped with a faint smile, then added, "Your end is near. Even you can't stop what's coming..."
Before he could say anything more, he felt himself being lifted into the air, and the prince placed his right hand on his head. "Do you think your primitive friends and their tricks can stop me? I am Revan, Master of both the Light and Dark Sides of the Force. And the Dark Side has many techniques that are considered inhuman. What matters is that they work."
Varys then felt a terrible pain, one he had never felt before, not even when his member had been sacrificed in the magical ritual. He felt his mind being torn apart by the clash of the prince's magic and the magic the sorcerers had left behind. The last thing he remembered was the face of his beloved sister.