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.
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"Tell me what you regard as your greatest strength, so I will know how best to undermine you; tell me of your greatest fear, so I will know which I must force you to face; tell me what you cherish most, so I will know what to take from you; and tell me what you crave, so that I might deny you…"
Darth Plagueis the Wise
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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
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King's Landing
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Old Lion
"How? How did this happen? How is this all possible? How did he know?" Illyrio Mopatis repeated, nervously pacing back and forth in front of his massive desk, testing Tywin's already frayed composure with each passing second.
The Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West had asked himself the same question many times over the past few hours, but he managed to do so silently, rather than lashing out in all directions like the Magister of Pentos.
Indeed, his outward calm was merely a mask, while Tywin's inner rage seethed with just the right amount of fear. And rightly so.
The young prince, barely out of his boyhood, not only proved far more dangerous and cunning than they could have expected but also dealt an incredibly powerful blow to their plans, turning most of their potential allies against them, who would now think twice about even looking askance at the Targaryens.
"Panicking won't change anything, Magister." Tywin finally interrupted his tirade, raising his voice slightly. "Did Raevan prove to be an extremely dangerous and difficult opponent? Yes. Did the prince's move influence our plans and make their execution more difficult? Yes. But… did it completely thwart them? Absolutely not."
Kevan's face was grim, but his brother nodded at his words, like always giving him his support. Whereas his3 son sipped his wine slowly, lost in thought. Tywin only hoped he was thinking about the solution to their problems instead of the whores' tits.
He pushed that irritating thought away, looking at Illyrio, who stopped and took a few deep breaths. He pulled a handkerchief from his robe and used it to wipe away the sweat that was pouring down his face.
"Yes... you're right, Tywin. Forgive me. I got carried away like any street vendor," the merchant prince replied with an apologetic expression. "I simply felt the loss of Varys, who had been a loyal friend of mine for many years… And now this whole mess."
"What about the hired Sorrowful Men and Faceless Men?" Tyrion asked, voicing the question that had been on his own mind for a moment. "Will they even be able to complete their mission? Who can guarantee that the prince won't be able to detect the presence of the Faceless Men?"
"How do we know he hasn't already dealt with them?" Kevan interjected, joining the conversation for the first time and, as usual, asking the right question.
"We know nothing, my lords. We are blind and we move forward in the fog." Illyrio replied helplessly, stretching out his arms. "Varys was our eyes and ears in Westeros, and our 'friends' from Asshai remain silent. Perhaps still unaware of what happened to their envoy."
His son shook his head doubtfully, saying, "I really doubt the sorcerers' organization wouldn't have some magical safeguards for such an eventuality."
"Hubris is the domain of the strong. This can be especially true of men more powerful than most," Tywin replied tartly. Hadn't the same thing happened to them? Intoxicated by the power of their alliance, so certain they were playing the royal family, they failed to notice that their opponent was several steps ahead of them.
"What about Malaquo Maegyr and our other allies?" Tyrion asked, toying with his wine goblet. "Leorio looked genuinely horrified by the prince's display. I don't know what he expected. Neither Rhaegar nor Raevan is Aerys or some other incompetent ruler. Quite the opposite."
Tywin nodded thoughtfully. "The question remains, what do we do with all this, and what are our next steps?" he said, rising. Walking to the window, he looked down at the streets below, where residents and visitors from all over the kingdom were still chatting heatedly, even though it was already evening and many hours had passed since the events on the tournament fields.
He knew they had little chance of discrediting the Targaryens after Prince Raevan portrayed them not as enemies of the House of the Dragon but as enemies of the kingdom and its people themselves. Enemies who attacked the prosperity, stability, and even the very souls of the people of Westeros.
The latter was especially problematic. Both lords and smallfolk had one curious thing in common. Most of them didn't fear for their souls or the afterlife when they committed crimes or other evil deeds, always finding some excuse... but when it came to curses, sorcerers, omens, and other such things that could damn and damn their souls or simply didn't align with their worldview, they suddenly became the most ardent followers of the Faith.
A perfect example of this was the reign of King Maegor, who, in Tywin's eyes, if it weren't for a few of his mistakes, particularly taking multiple wives, would have been one of the more competent rulers of the Targaryen dynasty.
He did what the Lord of Casterly Rock himself would have done in his place: he took Faith by the throat and put it in its place. It's a shame his successors squandered his achievement.
It seemed Raevan had adopted a different tactic. By undermining the High Septon's position, he had presented himself as the gods' anointed. Tywin understood perfectly well what the prince was aiming for: to subjugate the Faith by presenting himself as the supreme religious authority.
For who is better suited to lead the Faith than the Champion of the Seven himself? In fact, he expected in the coming days either to elect his own man temporarily as High Septon or to abolish the position altogether and create another. He had to admit, it was a move he himself would not be ashamed of.
"One thought troubles me," his son's voice snapped him out of his reverie. Namely, how did the prince manage to influence everyone there to such an extent? It wasn't normal."
"It couldn't have been," Kevan admitted, looking at him. "I saw Tarly ready to go to war, and many of our own lords, even the normally calm and composed ones, were close to tears and tearing their robes. I'd be willing to bet my life that magic was involved here."
Tywin nodded, agreeing with his brother. "It is indeed suspicious. Moreover, I believe that whatever magic or powers were involved also affected us... only by inducing diametrically opposed emotions," he admitted, the hand behind his back gripping his other wrist with anger.
This was what hurt him most and wounded his pride. The fact that the young prince possessed powers that could influence Tywin's own mind was not only disturbing but downright terrifying.
Yes, Tywin Lannister, for the first time in his life he felt true fear. No, not fear of failure or death, but fear of destroying everything he had spent his life building and losing control of his actions.
"I am not a man who gives in to emotions easily... including fear," he admitted with a slight hesitation, genuinely ashamed. However, it was not something they could keep quiet about.
"But there in the tourney arena, I felt fear filling me... I don't know what caused it, or perhaps something simply brought its smoldering embers to the surface... Dark thoughts filled my mind, whispering of our inevitable defeat and the futility of our actions."
After these words, he turned to the map of Westeros and Western Essos hanging on the wall, slowly arranging possible moves in his mind. Until his allies landed in the Seven Kingdoms, fighting would be suicidal, especially since he didn't know if he could count on his own men.
"We all felt it, Father," he heard Tyrion's voice, unusually quiet and distant, so unlike his usual voice. "I felt so small, yet so terrified, that if he'd been standing on some wall or tower, I would have thrown myself down."
Tywin looked at the dwarf with a raised eyebrow, not expecting such a confession. He also saw both Kevan and Illyrio nodding, as if acknowledging that they had experienced something similar.
Prince Raevan's power was truly terrifying; something not even found in ancient legends and myths. It was more akin to what the sorcerers of Asshai wielded, Those Who Dwell in Shadows.
"The Targaryens will not sit idly by now when a potential war is inevitable. The prince has many projects we don't know about," Tyion said, giving him a pointed look. "Rumors say that the forges and other buildings on Dragonstone have been working on some kind of weapon for months."
Draining his wine goblet to the bottom, the dwarf then looked sadly at the empty bottle on the table before continuing,
"We must not forget that Raevan is not only a powerful sorcerer but also arguably the greatest mind of our time, and his inventions belong to times of peace. The question is, what has this brilliant mind prepared for times of war? What a pity, Father, that you have chosen the wrong side for us."
"Enough!" Tywin shouted, losing his composure, unwilling to tolerate his son's insolence. Especially since he himself was beginning to question whether his ambitions wouldn't cost his House everything.
"What irony it would be," Tyrin continued, clearly too drunk to heed his warning. "If Rains of Castermere... or maybe rather Rains of Casterly Rock were performed for us."
Tywin gritted his teeth and lips, refusing to be provoked by his useless son. Instead, he responded to Tyrion with the same words: "Perhaps it would be better for the Rock to fall than for you to see it turned into one big brothel after my death, full of whores and drunks."
The dwarf suddenly collapsed, all his drunken bravado vanishing in an instant. Tywin, however, was unwilling to shrug off the hurt in the other's eyes.
He sighed again. Why had the gods punished him with useless children? Worse still, of the three, the dwarf seemed the most competent, if one ignored his drunken and whoring lifestyle.
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King's Landing
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Grief
The events that followed significantly impacted their plans. The fact that Prince Raevan Targaryen turned out to be a powerful sorcerer could have discouraged many hired assassins and even provided a valid reason to break their contract. But not for them. They were Sorrowful Men, and they didn't break contracts once they made them.
Moreover, killing such a powerful target, although of course it was very complicated, would undoubtedly elevate the fame of their order to even greater heights, confirming that they can fulfill the contract for anyone.
Their guild had sent two dozen of their best men, including himself, expecting a difficult task. Now, however, Grief admitted to himself that he wouldn't mind another two dozen or three of his brothers.
And the fact that somewhere in the city, perhaps even in the Red Keep, the Faceless Man also hunted their target was no comfort at all. If they got to the prince first, the Sorrowful Man would lose their chance. Grief intended to be the one to close their target's eyes and weep over his corpse.
The last half moon had been dangerously stormy, and the Golden Cloaks and Prince Raevenchrist's men were scouring the city, checking the identities of any foreign visitors, or at least those they could find.
How can you verify whether one of the thousands of sailors at the docks was actually from Myr and not Pentos? So for them, who had spent several weeks in King's Landing, and some even several moons, hiding wasn't a problem. Not only had they gotten to know the city well, but they had also established good contacts with the local underworld, which was being steadily exterminated by Prince Raevan and his Raevanchrist.
So for now, they remained silent, waiting for the right moment to strike. The decision would fall to Sorrow, the leader of their order, who had joined them here in Kings Landing just days before the tournament began, and it was he who decided to continue the contract.
With these thoughts in mind, he moved through the crowded streets of the city's dock district to deliver oil to the Dancing Star, one of the port's taverns, greeting those he passed by whom he had become familiar while building his cover in King's Landing.
He passed a seafood stand where one of his brothers, Tear, was selling, and in the Gold Cloaks patrol coming from the other direction was another of his own, Remorse.
Soon he reached the northern part of the docks, where the vast Royal Shipyards were spread out, creating new ships he had never seen before. They were terrifyingly massive, making him wonder how something like that could even float on water.
If this thing sails out to sea and doesn't sink, it will surely conquer them. Having spent the last few moons in this city, Grief had learned much about the famous inventions and improvements of King Rhaegar's second son.
Seeing their impact on those around him and thinking about the wonders he might invent in the future, he couldn't hide that he felt sadness that they had to kill him. For he could change in the future not only this kingdom but also have an influence on entire continents and generations.
The wasp accompanying each port looked carefully around the area, which they had marked as one of the places with the greatest potential for an assassination attempt on the prince. The multitude of people, of different races and backgrounds, and the noise and chaos accompanying each port made it easier to get close to the potential target.
In the case of the prince, this turned out to be even more important, as they counted on the fact that such a large number of people might have an impact on his possible magical abilities to detect threats, if any existed.
They had already considered various options and methods for assassinating Raevan Targaryen, but all indirect methods were ineffective, as Red Keep was guarded like the Iron Bank's vaults, and everyone entering and leaving it was strictly monitored.
This made the location and timing of a potential attack even more crucial. This was Tear's task at the docks, among other things. To mentally map every alleyway and building. Other guild members were doing the same in other potential assassination locations.
Outside the tavern, he encountered another guild member, an elderly woman with a nondescript, wrinkled, and sun-tanned face. This was Apathy, the person to whom he had been sharing the information he had gathered and the sketched maps of the port.
The woman was also one of the most dangerous members of their guild, having achieved absolute mastery over decades of work in the use of poisons, venoms, and the methods of intoxicating targets with them.
Every arrow, knife, or other weapon they wielded would conceal some of the most deadly substances known to man. This was their best chance against the prince. For even a sorcerer would die from a single dose of any of these substances.
Regardless of the cost, the Sorrowful Men intended to fulfill their contract, and Grief knew it could only end in death. Either theirs or the prince's.
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King's Landing, Royal Shipyards
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Raevan
Three weeks had passed since the events in the tournament arena, where he executed High Setpon. From this moment on things escalated. The festivities and the tournament itself were interrupted, and all of the lords retired to their lands to begin recruiting and preparing for a potential war.
The same was true of the visitors from Essos, most of whom, except for the Braavos representative, left King's Landing that same day, though that was only the official story. At the king's behest, Raevan personally captured several of the most suspicious among them.
Most of them turned out to be clueless, but Malaquo Maegyr and Leorio Alequo turned out to be more than involved. Like Varys, their minds were protected by some Sith alchemy ritual, so he managed to extract only shreds of knowledge after shattering their artificial mental shields. Unfortunately, after that, they turned into vegetables.
Many would undoubtedly be outraged that they were captured while they were guests in Westeros, but for Raevan, the moment they joined or even organized a conspiracy against his family, they became enemies who had to be killed at all costs.
The Free Cities had declared war on him, and even if he saw them reduced to ashes, he would make sure no one would ever think of testing him again. Neither the Essosi nor the Sith realized who they were up against.
Raevan wasn't just any Jedi or Sith. And they would eventually understand that when it was too late.
Red Keep, and especially Maegor's Holdfast, were constantly patrolled; guards not only doubled but tripled, and his family was forbidden to move or be alone. His father even ordered them to sleep together to keep the guards and the Kingsguard together.
Why all this? For a very simple reason. One of the things he managed to extract from Malaquo's mind was the fact that he had sent one of his men to hire the Faceless Man. Whether he had succeeded in hiring them, Raevan knew that one thing was certain: They had to prepare for the worst.
Their family's safety, however, was just one of many things they focused on during those days. Another was trying to subjugate Faith, even partially.
Raevan, addressing herself as the Anointed of the Seven, sent a letter to the Starry Sept in Old Town, informing them that the High Septon position had been temporarily abolished and that the Faith's governance would be taken over by the Conclave, a council of six septons, presided over by him. Any opposition would be deemed to have been in league with the High Septon and branded as traitors to the realm, the people, and the Faith itself.
With this move, he had already subjugated all the septons and septs in the capital, and in time, he would do the same to the rest or break them. Now that he had used their very faith against them, the very weapon they themselves so fondly waved in the faces of his ancestors, they would either submit and adapt to the new order or perish with this passing era.
His mind drifted back to the present moment, focusing on the massive hull before him, the first of a new generation of ships he intended to build. The ship had a four-deck design, three main masts, and space for 80 guns. Guns that were currently being cast in his foundries on Dragonstone.
That's how it must work now. The ships, like many other plans, were intended to be long-term, and he planned to implement them slowly. However, his enemies forced him to accelerate everything.
If he only had to deal with ordinary enemies, this wouldn't be a problem, but now that he had to focus on fighting other Force users, his troops and commanders needed something to give them an edge against the armies of the Free Cities.
"Your Highness, isn't she beautiful?" Simeon asked, standing beside him, gazing with obvious pride at the near-complete colossal ship before them. The master shipwright was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, sharp green eyes, and a face clearly marked by years of sailing and working at sea.
Simeon's father came from Braavos, so he himself spent half of his life sailing and building their ships, eventually becoming one of the most renowned shipwrights in the known world. Raevan picked him up from the Sealord of Braavos, not with the promise of greater earnings but with the vision of building the most powerful fleet in the known world, composed of the most advanced ships.
The three of them, he, Simeon, and Aemon, designed the marvel before him. Of course, to him, who had seen the mighty starships of the Republic and the Imperium of the Sith, not to mention the Star Forge, it was a pathetic design. But in this place, at this time, on this planet, it was an achievement of which he was proud.
That's how they ended up here. Raevan turned his head to the left, where the skeletons of two more similar ships were being built, but it would be a good three moons before they were launched, while this one would be in a few days.
Seeing his look, the master shipwright said with a hint of satisfaction, "It will only get faster with each subsequent ship. The first one is always the hardest to build and takes the longest. These will be built in three moons, and the next ones in two or one. However, I doubt that, given their size and advancement, we would be able to build them faster than once a fortnight."
Raevan nodded, fully agreeing with the man's words. Even one moon was a very good time for such a monster, worth more than dozens of their enemies' ships. And even if not by as much, it didn't change the fact that these ships would conquer the sea for them.
"Soon the Narrow Sea will be filled..." he suddenly fell silent. A brief, perhaps two- or three-second, vision flashed through his mind in which one of the workers passing by suddenly lunged at him with inhuman speed, unsheathing a blade hidden in his shirt sleeve. And with it, vision ended.
Only a moment later, the loud tolling of bells rang out, not from the sept but from the Red Keep. 'Alarm bells. Attack,' he thought, terrified suddenly for the fate of his family. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a workman with a plain face approaching him. The very same one he had seen in his vision.
Without hesitation, trusting the Force, he lifted a finger, snapping the man's neck, and the corpse fell to the ground. Simeon recoiled in terror, and screams echoed around him, only to grow louder when crossbow bolts and arrows flew towards him from various directions. However, they stopped at the telekinetic shield he had created around himself.
With his heightened senses, he detected the presence of several types of poisons on the stopped projectiles. Of course, they were trying to use poisons and venoms against him. Clever, if this were true of most Force users, but every self-respecting Master knew techniques to protect and counteract poisons. He did too.
"Atack! Run!" cried one of the shipwrights.
"Assassins! They want to kill the prince! To arms!" one of Raevan's men shouted.
But before his guards could take more than two steps, even more arrows flew towards him, and from the crowd around them, many figures rushed towards him.