Chapter 8 - Plots!

Author: KAIOSHIN 

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(A/N: Pov In Qarth)

In the heart of Qarth, the House of the Undying stood majestically, a puzzle woven into the city's plot. As the traveler approached, ancestral whispers unfolded like ancient pages of a magical scroll. The gates creaked, echoing the promise of hidden secrets.

Creak!*

Entering, the dimness transformed into a murmur of dancing shadows. The corridors, like a labyrinth of riddles, resonated with unheard steps, as if the air itself held secrets.

Whispers!*

In the central hall, the aura of the mages hung like ethereal smoke. Words, like magical flames, floated among them, creating a symphony of mystery.

Mystical chants!*

Suddenly, the environment shifted into unknown colors, a spectacle for the senses. It was as if time itself wove its cloak, intertwining past, present, and future into a single thread.

Time warp!*

Exploring labyrinthine corridors, each door revealed a portal to other dimensions. Each one, an invitation to unravel the unknown.

Door creak!*

Thus, amid shadows and whispers, the House of the Undying revealed itself as a ciphered poem, an ode to magic and the unknown, where senses intertwined like threads of an entangled destiny. In silence, the promise of magical revelations persisted, subtle as an ancestral sigh.

**

(A/N: Pov of the Undying of Qarth)

The Undying knew the era of magic had ended. With the peak of magical times, tons of dragons maintained magic in the air, for dragons are magic given form and body. With the disappearance of dragons, their order of immortal houses fell into disarray. Magic was essential for their House of the Undying cult.

In the last 13 years, something had changed, something or someone was born. They were sure a dragon, not just a "SUPER Dragon," had been born! The power was overwhelming, pure power flowing into this world. They had to do something, no matter what. They had to obtain whatever had brought magic back to its peak. They discovered it was in Westeros! Damn Targaryens! Cursed them all! Fortunately, he is not a Targaryen. They would plan and achieve what they wanted!

**

(A/N: Pov of the Citadel)

In a land where secrets echo like whispers of the wind, the Order of Maesters emerges as the guardian of knowledge in Westeros. In the heart of the Citadel, their sanctuary, wise men intertwine like pages of a book, their knowledge ingrained in stone walls.

In a symphony of thoughts, the Maesters, like night owls, whisper secrets of ancient history. The tinkling of parchment chains dances in the air, while their steps resonate through the corridors, a silent melody echoing through the ages.

Among vials of potions and ancient artifacts, the Maesters shape destinies like blacksmiths shape steel. The gleam of dragon glass echoes like distant thunder, promising power and danger.

Words, like sharp blades, cut through the veil of the unknown. In the hands of the Maesters, history is woven with threads of magic and science, creating a tapestry of truths and lies where the unwary get lost.

In the halls of the Citadel, the echo of the Maesters' words is like a celestial choir, guiding the destinies of realms. In silence, they weave the tapestry of the future, where each thread is a choice, each knot is an entwined fate.

Thus, the Order of Maesters remains the guardian of knowledge, where the sound of wisdom resonates like an ancestral song, echoing through the corridors of time.

**

(A/N: Pov of Grand Maesters)

The Grand Maesters did not expect this. 13 years ago, all the glass candles lit abruptly, and their ravens began speaking madly.

"King! King! King! King! King! King!"

"Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur! Arthur!"

He wondered who the hell King Arthur is and why there was a new awakening of magic in the world. Dragons had disappeared centuries ago, and there was no reason for magic to return. All the Maesters of the Citadel needed to find the thing that brought magic back to this world and destroy it.

**

(A/N: Change of Arthur's Pov...)

Arthur walked resolutely through the forest, following the advice of the child of the forest. He needed to restore balance in Harrenhal by planting new weirwood trees in place of those destroyed by King Harren.

As he delved into the forest, Arthur felt a powerful presence. The trees seemed to watch him, whispering inaudible secrets. Suddenly, a white figure emerged among the trees before him.

Later, back at the castle, Arthur was greeted by Maester. "My Lord, a raven arrived from King's Landing bringing important news. The king has summoned a grand tournament to celebrate Prince Aegon's birthday. Several lords and knights from the realm will be present."

An idea formed in Arthur's mind. This tournament would be a perfect opportunity to showcase his skill as a knight. He gathered his vassals and announced his intention to travel to King's Landing and participate in the tournament. His knights acclaimed him with enthusiasm.In the capital, the tournament was full of renowned knights. Arthur defeated Ser Barristan Selmy in the joust, gaining fame and admiration. King Aerys seemed impressed with the young Lord Whent. A prince became very interested in young Whent.

Back in Harrenhal, Arthur tended to the weirwood trees daily. He could feel the curse weakening as the trees grew. Their growth was completely abnormal; in a few days, they were already small trees and would soon be larger.

The sun set over Harrenhal, coloring the sky in hues of red as Arthur gazed at the horizon. The weirwood trees, now robust and proud, swayed to the gentle rhythm of the breeze, like silent guardians of a restored balance.

However, a mysterious aura hung over the castle. The glass candles, silent witnesses of past events, continued to burn, casting dancing shadows in the corridors of Harrenhal.

Creak!*

The familiar sound of the gate opening echoed, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. Crossing the threshold, a familiar presence emerged from the recesses of the castle. The Maesters, clad in their ancient robes, awaited as sentinels of knowledge.

"Arthur Whent, the Lord of Harrenhal, the one who restored order to the weirwood trees," declared the Grand Maesters with reverence.

With each step, the words of the Maesters reverberated through the corridors, creating a melody of respect and recognition. The ravens, attentive to the scene, croaked like winged witnesses.

Caw!*

The Grand Maesters raised an ancient scroll containing prophecies and mysteries. "Magic, once dormant, is entwined again in the events of Westeros. You, Arthur Whent, have become part of this plot."

The symbolism of the weirwood trees, now in full bloom, reflected the restoration not only of the land but also of the magic permeating the air.