A Farce

House Lucaria, a noble house that rivals House Cumhail in terms of power and prestige. Though House Cumhail boasts of fielding some of the greatest knights among those of the Unseelie Court, House Lucaria is without a shadow of a doubt the one with the greatest magical knights of the entire Unseelie Court. 

Being the greatest pioneers of magic amongst the Unseelie Court, House Lucaria founded the Raya Lucaria Academy; an academy that teaches the manipulation of The Veil, also known as The Mist to the Greeks. Many a fey attended the academy, including some of Queen Mab's very own children. 

Of course allowing a single noble house to possess such power is not something which Queen Mab would permit, and as such it comes to no surprise to Aemon that Queen Mab would bethroth the twin sister of the head of House Lucaria to her most loyal son, Messmer. 

Which brings Aemon to his current dilemma, Messmer along with his personal army lives. And no doubt swearing fealty to him is none other than House Lucaria, the very same house which neighbors House Cumhail in the north and have recently had quite friendly relations with the same House Cumhail that is currently in active rebellion against him. 

"Oh the sly bastard." Aemon says with a mirthless chuckle from his seat on the Winter Throne. 

The tension in the Throne Room is thick enough to be cut by a blade, causing his commanders to nervously shuffle about on their feet.

"Trénmhoir mac Cumhail, you sly bastard." Aemon says.

"Who is that?" asks Percy, shaking Aemon from his thoughts.

"Trénmhoir mac Cumhail is the Lord of House Cumhail and an absolute bastard." he explains. "This entire war which he has propagated is a farce. Bait for which to weaken my army while the true threat lurks in the shadows, waiting for an opportune moment to strike." Aemon says. 

"How do you figure?" asks Jennifer, prompting all those present to look at Aemon in interest, for they also wish to know how he came to such a conclusion.

"Since the founding of the Unseelie Court House Cumhail and House Lucaria have never gotten along, after all a mountain cannot house two tigers and within the Unseelie Court there may only be one supreme noble house after the royal family. The Autumn Court does not count for they are direct vassals of the Winter Court, the royal family, and no other house possesses the resources, prestige, or power on par with House Lucaria and House Cumhail; leaving the two houses as the sole contenders for the position of greatest noble house after the royal family." Aemon explains. 

"Lately, however, even before King Aemon ascended the throne, House Cumhail and House Lucaria have been great friends to one another." adds Alflyse. 

"So the real threat is House Lucaria?" asks Percy.

"Ha! As if. Trénmhoir would sooner sacrifice himself at a shrine to Queen Mab before ever allowing his house to be House Lucaria's bait." says Aemon, "No, the true threat is whom House Lucaria supports."

"Messmer." whispers Miquela with wide eyes, his voice resounding throughout the throne room and causing an unnatural chill to permeate the air that makes Simon, Percy, Anakin, and Jennifer to briefly tremble.

"Aye, Messmer the Impaler. Queen Mab's eldest and most loyal son." says Aemon. 

Messmer the Impaler, Mab's eldest and most loyal son. To showcase his devotion to her, he made himself into a weapon to be wielded against her enemies. Mastering his own form of magic and anything related to war, he quickly became a force to be reckoned with; a spear for Mab to point at whichever fool displeased her. None save for Mab herself could rival him in raw power, yet even she herself could never match his skill at arms nor his cunning in warfare. 

Many a time Mab set him upon the Seelie Court and more often than not he emerged victorious. Eventually however she commanded him to a crusade against those she deemed did not match her vision of the Unseelie Court.

Goblins, hobgoblins, ogres, and any other fey not possessing of preternatural beauty were victims of Messmer's crusade. None know why she gave her son such an order, only that one day she did and since then Messmer has hunted those fey within the Unseelie Court to extinction; and when he accomplished his task within the Unseelie Court he set out into the depths of the Feywilds with his personal knights to continue his crusade and none have heard of him since. Even Aemon himself does not know his whereabouts for Queen Mab seemed to no longer care of his goings once he left the Winter Realm. 

"Messmer is betrothed to Rellana, the twin sister to the lady of House Lucaria, Rennala." explains Aemon.

"What does House Cumhail get out of this?" asks Anakin, causing them to turn their attention to him. "You said that House Cumhail 'would sooner sacrifice himself at a shrine to Queen Mab before ever allowing his house to be House Lucaria's bait'" quotes Anakin. "But right now that's exactly what they're doing, so what did House Lucaria promise them?" asks Anakin.

"As the mundanes say, that is the million dollar question." says Aemon before looking to the ceiling. "Of course, I am quite sure that our guest would not mind supplying us with the answer." he adds as Alflyse throws a dagger at a shadow that quickly dodges before stopping in the middle of the throne room and coalesces into a knight adorned in resplendent white armor.

"I did not expect for any of you to notice my presence, not even you, Alflyse." says the knight nonchalantly.

The sounds of weapons drawing and a lightsaber igniting fills the room as all but Aemon and Miquella prepare for battle.

"Fal mac Cumhail." snarls Alflyse, her voice filled with nothing but disdain and loathing as opposed to its usual indifferent quality. 

"Alflyse, my dear. I see that you are still upset, it has been centuries since then, let it go." says Fal before turning to Aemon.

"So, you are the pretender that sits on the Unseelie Throne." says Fal.

"You are in the presence of your King, kneel." commands Aemon as his Conqueror's Haki bears down upon Fal, forcing him to his knees.

From behind Aemon's throne Ghost prowls into the light and silently snarls at Fal while circling the fae. 

"To come here is the height of foolishness." says Aemon as Fal attempts to raise his head. "Tell me, what is to stop me from reaping your life here and now? After all, your death would cripple Trénmhoir's ability to gain information." Aemon asks. 

Unable to answer verbally, all Fal can do is glare at Aemon. 

"Did I give you permission to raise your head? Know your place." sneers Aemon as the pressure of his Conqueror's Haki increases and smashes Fal's forehead to the ground. 

"If not foolishness, then arrogance?" ponders Aemon, yet despite saying so he cannot help but feel that he is wrong, that there is a bigger ploy at work here beyond Fal's foolishness or arrogance. 

Suddenly, a Huginn's caw resonates throughout the entire fort. 

"Invasion! Invasion! Invasion!" caws the raven.

Despite not receiving any commands from Aemon, his commanders are quick to action as they rally their forces.

Before their commands can be put into action however, the ceiling of the throne room caves in and an explosion sends them all flying from their feet. 

As Aemon adjusts himself in the air however, a massive reptilian hand smacks him through the walls of the Winter Fort out into the forest and with a resounding crack his vision goes black. 

…

…

…

Westeros, Beyond the Wall

106 AC

It took Jaehaerys longer than he would have liked to find the cause of his wolf dreams. Yet, standing before the direwolf now he cannot say that the search was not worth it; for in truth it was worth it.

Before him is a massive direwolf as big as Aemon's companion, Ghost. With fur as black as the night and eyes as blue as the Ice Dragon star up in the sky. Where Ghost is mute, this one is merely silent by choice. 

"You shall be Shadow." says Jaehaeys as he pets the direwolf. 

Rather than answer him, Shadow turns his head to the woods at their right and growls in warning.

Following his direwolf's gaze, Jaehaerys finds a score of wildlings approaching them.

Unlike all wildlings that Jaehaerys has ever encountered, the Thenns included, these wildlings are as well armed as men at arms of a Northern house. With swords and spears of steel and armor of mail, they would not be out of place among warriors of House Karstark or Umber.

Leading them is a giant of a man that stands at six feet six inches and wields a sword in one and an axe in the other. 

Not far behind him is as tall as Jaehaerys wielding twin axes. 

"There is the direwolf, Jarl Sigurd." says one of the wildlings to the giant. 

"By the gods, he must be kin to Fenrir." says the man wielding the axes. 

"Hail friend, no need to be alarmed, we come for the wolf." says Jarl Sigurd.

"The wolf is off limits." replies Jaehaerys with narrowed eyes. 

"It has been terrorizing my people and feeding from their livestock, I cannot allow it to live." says Sigurd. 

"Then you will be pleased to learn that I am taking him away from these lands." replies Jaehaerys. 

"Unfortunately I cannot allow you to do that. Justice will only be served once my people have its pelt and sacrifice it to the gods." argues Sigurd.

"Allow me?" questions Jaehaerys with a sneer as the temperature in the area plummets. "You do not allow me to do anything. It is I who allow you to continue living despite your repeated threats to my companion." says Jaehaerys. 

Snarling at the disrespect to his brother, Eivor steps forward only to be stopped by one of his companions. 

"That is no mere man, Wolf-Kissed." says the wildling with a quivering voice, "That is a Stark of Winterfell. Their clan is King among the kneelers and they are the ones who built The Wall. Legends say that the blood of the Others flows through their veins." warns the wilding, causing some of his companions to warily nod in agreement.

"Oh, a wildling that easily recognises a Stark." comments Jaehaerys. 

"Do you doubt our might, Styr?" questions Eivor with a frown. 

"I do not question your might Wolf-Kissed, I merely caution against rashness. There is a reason that they are King among the kneelers. None have ever defeated them, not even the Others, such is their might." explains the wildling.

"Enough!" commands Sigurd, silencing the wilding and stopping Eivor from replying. "Will you or will you not relinquish the wolf?" questions Sigurd. 

"You want the direwolf." smirks Jaehaerys. "Come and get him." he taunts. 

With a roar Sigurd launches himself at Jaehaerys, swinging his sword at his head. 

Smirk still in place Jaehaerys flows around the slash and in one smooth motion draws Dark Sister and slices it through Sigurd's right elbow. 

With nary a resistance, as if Sigurd's flesh, bone, and armor were mere paper, Dark Sister slashes Sigurd's arm off from the elbow. 

"NO!" roars Eivor as he lunges at Jaehaerys.

Before he can even come close to Jaehaerys, Shadow pounces on him and slashes his claws through the viking's right eye.

Dropping his axes and gripping the right side of his face, Eivor falls to his knees with a cry before Jehaerys kicks him unconscious. 

"They are merely maimed, not dead." says Jaehaerys as he turns to the wildlings. 

"If you do not wish for it to change then it would be best to get them to a healer now." he adds. 

With his piece said, Jaehaerys turns and leaves, his now bonded direwolf following along like a silent shadow. 

Author's Note: Here's the latest chapter. As usual, tell me what you guys think. If you want to support me or read ahead, you at my patreon: patreon.com/servantambrosius